


like ice cracking over frozen water

by minhyukwithagun (deadlylampshades)



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Angst, M/M, Slow Burn, Sprinklings of fluff, aka minhyuk tries to seduce a ghost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-15 18:33:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 37,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12326553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlylampshades/pseuds/minhyukwithagun
Summary: “Why do you want me to leave so badly?” Minhyuk asked.“You make me wish I wasn’t dead anymore.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to the hyungwon is a ghost au featuring death, poetry, pocket watches and more death.
> 
> huge thanks to fari for betaing and my eternal gratitude to steph for everything else <3

It was raining the day Hyungwon died. He remembered that much.

There was rain, a body, there was a funeral, and there was a grave. Dirt covered a coffin, and seasons passed. The home he lived and died in remained empty. There was nothing.

And then, sometime later,

There was an echo of what used to be.

 

Hyungwon felt a connection to his house, beyond the physical one which bound him to its fences.  What Hyungwon felt for his house was the _only_ feeling he had left inside of him. It wasn’t just his house – it was _him_. Where other people had blood and veins, Hyungwon felt the house laid out in his mind, an extension of himself, with his energy pulsing through the aging walls.

But he wouldn’t.

He wasn’t that dramatic.

Doors would slam, floors would creak, windows would crack – but they’d repair themselves just as quickly, like a wound closing. Hyungwon could control his house like it was just another part of his body.

His influence may have been great but it wasn’t as if he was constructing symphonies of shutting windows in his house - he had a habit of fading out of existence with the frequency of rain, which suited him, because he didn’t really care much for existence anyway.

Hyungwon did not have a physical form but he didn’t need one either. If he ever looked down he would see the vivid illusion of a body, clothed and in the same lean and long figure as he was at death – but if he ever attempted to try and touch it, he’d see the figure distort itself around his fake grip.

He always showed up in mirrors, the translucent him, the one far too pale and he cracked them in disgust. He could deduce that while his appearance may have never changed, _he_ changed. It seemed like every time he awoke, he was different than the previous day. Some days it was as if he was a hot-blooded human, he stomped around his house, picking up vases just to break them – just to feel like he had an effect on the world around him, just to feel like he was _something_.

Because, more often than not, he was not. Most of the time he was little more than wind, just drifting aimlessly; just wind on the windows.

When he woke up one day to an empty house, he had no idea it was in that sort of permanent death way. He remembered dying, vaguely, in that sort of dream way – but he didn’t remember death. Comfort was never found in holy words for Hyungwon but even he felt like he could use an answer or two from some book as to why he couldn’t move _on_. It was so difficult to tell the passing of time, and he never knew what happened to him whenever he faded into nonexistence.

All he really knew was that he always came back to his same house, and as years passed, he cared less and less about it. He watched the paint peel, the wood rot and the dust settle. It grew more and more dilapidated with each visit, till it looked more and more like ghosts lived in it.

And, a ghost did.

 

He never really noticed (or cared) when curious wanderers intruded into his house, messing up the place with their loud voices and cigarette stubs, but they never usually returned. By his poor memory he recalled he was due to have inherited this house and when he died, it appeared no one wished to move into the house that claimed his life. It was difficult to understand why such a big house was left to decay but then again, he would not enjoy having a guest.

 

Sometimes neighbourhood kids would walk in, in big groups and their chatter would bounce off the walls.

_“I heard this house has been abandoned for years!”_

_“My mom says even when she was a little girl no one lived here.”_

_“Do you think there’s some sort of spirit here that drives people away?”_

_“Don’t be silly, those aren’t real.”_

_“Ugh I stepped on a nail!”_

Hyungwon would not even grace them with his presence – he learnt a long time ago if he put up a show, more people would come. Word would go around of a “haunted” house with wailing walls and the door wouldn’t even be unlocked before more curious eyes entered. Better to be quiet, make his _house_ quiet. Then they’d leave.

He tried to make the most of his half-life initially. On more ‘human’ days, he’d use his translucent grip to page through books in his library and he attempted to pick up where his life abruptly ended.

Other days however, he didn’t even feel _real_. His voice when he tried to speak came out as howling wind, and no matter how much he scratched on the windows, his nails barely grazed the glass.

The only factor that remained constant was that Hyungwon couldn’t leave his house – and he didn’t want to either. He had nothing left in this world.

It was so difficult to keep track of the years passing, and it became even more so when the visitors to his house started dwindling. It was nice at first not having to endure silly children messing up his beloved home, but it made him feel all the more fake, as he continued to live as not quite a ghost but not quite a person. Above all, he just wished he could just _move on_ , and erase his mediocre life. It was just so ironic, that for someone who was so _bored_ with life, his death was just a continuation of it.

He couldn’t help but wonder what exactly he did to deserve this, but had no answers from a God or a Devil or anything in between. There was only ever him and his house.

*

Hyungwon had reached some sort of pattern in his non-life. He didn’t often ‘wake up’ as he called it, but when he did, he would just drift around his empty house. Sometimes he’d rattle some floorboards and shut some doors, just to feel some semblance of control, but more than often he just drifted up and down the stairs, waiting for the moment in which he could fade back into his temporary nonexistence.

Rarely, there would be a neighbourhood child in the house or surrounding area but they would inevitably leave – after all, Hyungwon was not an exciting ghost. He kept his temper tantrums accompanied by broken windows and slamming doors to himself – the kind worth talking about. It felt like an intrusion on his person when they just forced the door open and browsed his house. A silver lining of sorts was that thievery never occurred – no out-dated possessions in the house were worth the effort to drag them down the overgrown grass on the steep hill that surrounded the property.

After so many years, Hyungwon had reached a state of acceptance. He would just drift forever, aimlessly, and maybe one day, if he was really lucky he’d never wake up again. At least he was consistent – he was as bad at life as he was at death.

Unfortunately, then someone had the nerve to trespass in his property and _not leave_.

 

The nickname Morning was given to the boy with blond hair. He always arrived in the morning with his backpack snug against his lean form, and he always stayed in the library for the duration of the day. As far as Hyungwon could tell, he may have been lured to the house with the prospect of funny horror stories. It was the only explanation for the simultaneously giddy and cautious way the boy had first entered the house, creeping in like a panther, and jumping at every slight noise. Hyungwon couldn’t be sure when exactly Morning had his first visit, but it had to be recent.

Truthfully, Hyungwon was intrigued at this strange blond boy who seemed far too content entering someone’s private library and making himself at home. He clearly had no regard for his own safety – there was no way a self-preserving person would spend their days in a house that could crumble at a slight breeze.

Morning was respectful, at least. He would always clean up after himself, packing each book away, careful to close the doors when he left. Hyungwon had still not made himself known yet – because surely a youth like him would get bored quickly of a stuffy library? That seemed to be the recurring pattern.

There was also an element of jealousy, Hyungwon would begrudgingly admit. Before his premature demise, he had left vast novels entirely unread, preferring to waste entire days away staring into space. At that time it seemed as if his life was going to careen into an endless void filled with wasted days, and that it was better to save all of his more precious activities for days when the boredom stretched ever longer than usual. And now most of them were left completely abandoned, gathering dust, just like everything in his house. To have them _enjoyed_ by someone else seemed… odd.

Morning was different, though. He kept coming back, and Hyungwon let him, privately observing from an existence (and it was nice to feel a new presence in the house, if he had to be honest). It was an almost symbiotic relationship.

And then Morning had to start reading his poetry.

Morning found the faded leather journal on one of the dustiest shelves of the library, and he held the book almost reverently upon seeing the handwritten interior. Hyungwon was in the corner, an invisible bystander. His memories may have been murky but he recognized the book instantly.

Even if he didn’t – it had his _name_ on the front cover.

 Hyungwon walked forward, unthinking, nearly willed the book shut with his mind-

“Oh!” Morning said, nearly toppling backwards onto the shelf, steadying himself with a hand. “Oh my God.”

He was looking at Hyungwon, directly _at_ him as if he was a real person. As if he could see him. “Oh my god, I didn’t see you there. Where did you even… oh god.”

He took a step back. “Sorry, are you the owner of this house?”

“Are you talking to me?” Hyungwon asked, the surprise in his voice slipping out.

Morning shifted from side to side. “Wow I’m sorry. This is so awkward.” The boy gulped, hurriedly dropping the notebook in his jeans pocket. The lack of subtlety made Hyungwon roll his eyes. He could at least _try_.

When no further reply came, he started to ramble. “I’m sorry about breaking in, really, the lock on the door was basically broken off already. I thought the house was abandoned and I just wanted to read from the library-” -” -"

He was… conversing? Speaking? As if Hyungwon was there? That wasn’t possible. That hadn’t happened before.

Hyungwon cocked his head to the side, lips tugged downwards. He wasn’t dreaming, that was obvious. The boy in front of him – man, really, but Hyungwon was already committed to the mental image of an impetuous trespassing child – appeared to be incredibly startled but doing his best to mask it. “You’re really talking to me?”

“Yes?” he said, more as a question than a clarification.

It was the first person he spoke to in more than a century – it was hard to believe he could even still speak. “I…”

The boy seemed to stand a bit firmer noticing Hyungwon’s hesitation. “You know, is this even your house either? This is the first time I’ve seen your face around here, and I’ve been coming here for a few weeks. You don’t exactly look like you belong here?”

_Weeks?_

Hyungwon filed that information away to be properly outraged by his other statement. He raised an eyebrow, indignant. “Of course it’s my house. What do you mean I don’t _look like I belong here_?”

This mansion was Hyungwon's birthright, the pride and joy of the Chae family, a house so beautiful and massive, it stood on the tallest hill in the town, looking down. It was the kind of house that befitted a wealthy family, of course he belonged here.

“I mean, if it’s your house, have you even lived here in the past year? Have you looked around at all the dust? Seriously? Have you not heard of furniture spray? And the kitchen? It’s literally empty and I don’t even think there’s electricity in here.”

“It’s my house!”

The Chae Library was known for having a particularly beautiful and large window out looking the back garden with wooden shutters. The back garden in question was one that Hyungwon did not look out of – he preferred to be the “alone in the dark kind” of recluse, instead of the shadow staring out of the window watching one. Nonetheless, it was an impressive garden, and an impressive view. And in that instant the shutters slammed shut, and the entire window visibly cracked.

“Jesus!” The boy cried, jumping back. Then he paused.

“Sorry,” Hyungwon muttered, because his parents raised him well enough to instil a sense of manners that transcended the boundaries of death.

Morning’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean sorry?”

Ah. It wasn’t a rational course of action to assume a cracked window was caused by telepathic energy. Hyungwon berated himself for being so out of touch. “I think you should leave now.”

Morning took the opportunity to lean against the bookshelf, crossing his arms. “And who exactly are you to tell me that?”

“The owner!”

The library door slammed shut, and swung open again.

“How is that happening, there isn’t a single open window in this entire place?” he looked from the door and back to Hyungwon. “Something isn’t normal here.” Morning finally said staring at the figure in front of him, and the sight of intense eyes contrasting the careless demeanour Hyungwon had observed up to that point was an unexpected one.

“You’re very pale, aren’t you?”

The boy was openly surveying him up and down. “Not normal pale. Luminous, almost.”

The shutters slammed shut again, and another crack trickled down, and the boy jumped back again.

“Leave.”

“Why do you want me to leave so badly?”

_“Because it’s my house.”_

The force of the words caused the room temperature to plummet as if the icy wind outside penetrated through the cracks lining the window. Goosebumps prickled the surface of the boy’s skin and he appeared to be unable to stand any further conversation in the condition.

Finally he made his way to the door, constantly looking back. He walked slowly, looking back often, but said nothing more.

He had his hand on the door handle, gripping tightly. “Who are you?”

It took Hyungwon a few moments to even remember his name, before deciding it wasn’t worth the trouble. “It really doesn’t matter.”

The boy hesitated, as if he wanted to argue but glanced up and down, and took a step back. Morning was in the doorway when he turned back but by then, Hyungwon had already disappeared out of existence.

 

When Hyungwon woke up, he instantly knew that _he_ was back. He felt _that kid’s_ presence in the library as a physical pain. Having reflected on his actions of the previous encounter, Hyungwon was annoyed to find he broke his only rule: don’t interact with visitors.

It wasn’t as if to say Hyungwon wouldn’t mind a bit of chatting or arguing but there was hardly a point - this kid will get bored soon. Definitely.

Except he didn’t.

The boy roamed around the house for the entire day, mostly reading, but occasionally staring into space. Several times he locked glances with Hyungwon, but he was not physical enough to be seen, and the boy just shivered unconsciously and went back to reading the notebook.

 _His_ notebook.

Hyungwon couldn’t remember much of his former life except that it was incredibly boring. However one thing he did remember was that writing poetry was the only thing that gave him some semblance of joy. He filled tens of those little notebooks with his words – some profound and some clunky and contrived. He never threw a single one out.

At some point between his death and his first appearance as a ghost, someone moved the notebooks from his room into the library. Even on his most physical days, Hyungwon did not open any of his poetry – it truly was a hobby best kept in another life. It felt intrusive to look on his old notebooks.

Still, there was a part of him that didn’t die with the rest of his humanity and it was the curiosity of whether Morning liked his poetry. Surely he did if he kept reading it?

But his face was unreadable.

Twilight fell and the orange rays streamed through the window when Morning finally spoke, his voice unsteady.

“This is… crazy. But if anyone is there, can you say something to me?” Morning said, walking through the library, peering behind every bookshelf as if there was something hiding. “I was thinking about what happened yesterday and it doesn’t make sense – and I don’t think I’m crazy. But, you know, maybe I am. But I swear something isn’t normal. Is anyone here?”

And Hyungwon did not give him the satisfaction of answering.

“Look, I know I didn’t imagine it.” He paused, considering his words carefully. “It was too weird. I’m not gonna call the police or anything. Everything just seems a bit too strange about this house. I just want to know if there’s... something here? The thing that I spoke to yesterday… the guy.”

 _The guy_. Hyungwon was now “ _the guy_ ”.

“Are you a ghost? The guy I spoke to yesterday - are you a ghost?”

Eventually, the complete lack of response prompted him to forcefully pack his backpack and leave, sparing a look back before he closed the door behind him.

 

They fell into a new pattern now. Hyungwon would find him reading or writing something in the library and inevitably at some point, Morning would start talking aloud asking about ghosts, spirits or whatever other nonsense came into his mind at the time.

Hyungwon was careful now. On days he was more physical, he hid entirely, not risking appearing before him again.

Days ticked by and Morning still hadn’t grown tired of the library – rather, it seemed he was growing more and more comfortable.

 

And then, one day he didn’t show up. What replaced him was a message in chalk on the entrance hall floor.

_You don’t have to talk to me. But I just want to know I’m not crazy. If you’re real, just answer._

A single piece of chalk was neatly placed at the side. And maybe it was because he was feeling sorry for the boy, or maybe it was because it was nice feeling a warm presence in his house, or maybe it’s because truthfully, Hyungwon was lonely and had always been lonely – but he lifted the chalk with unsteady, semi-solid hands and wrote back.

 _Yes_.

 

Apparently the sheer effort of lifting a piece of chalk had Hyungwon away from life for several days because when he finally reappeared he saw the chalk message rubbed away and a new message.

_Hello there. I’m Minhyuk. What’s your name? Are you a ghost?_

And underneath that was a series of tallymarks – six of them.

The first thing he noticed was how white the wooden floor had become – Hyungwon suppressed a laugh at imagining the boy writing and rewriting a message till he was finally satisfied. The chalk scratched against the wood as Hyungwon wrote his reply.

_I’m Hyungwon. Yes._

He had a name now. He wasn’t Morning or ‘that kid’ anymore. Minhyuk. It had a nice kind of sound to it, as far as names go. He suited it.

 

Hyungwon was awake the next time Minhyuk came to the house. He gave a loud squeal of delight at the message, and instantly knelt down and poured his gaze over the three simple words as if they were an entire novel.

“Hyungwon?” he said out loud, and looking around.

It was impossible to describe exactly how Hyungwon felt to hear his name spoken out loud for the first time since he died, but the closest he could liken it too, was that he felt just that fraction more _real_. Like at some point in his life he was actually _someone_ , and didn’t always exist as this strange spirit. The curtains shifted as he overcame the wave of emotion.

“Hyungwon, Hyungwon, Hyungwon. Hyungwon!” Minhyuk sang, taking out a cloth from his bag and rubbing away the old chalk. The smile on his face seemed to brighten the entire room. He began to write something, and paused to erase as he misspelled a word.

_You take really long to reply. I like your name, though. Are you really a ghost?_

Satisfied, Minhyuk went to the library, leaving the chalk in the same position as the last time.

Feeling rather daring, while he was preoccupied with reading, Hyungwon wrote his reply in that moment.

_Yes I am. This is my house. Who are you?_

The wait was maddening. Minhyuk stayed completely still in the library for the entire afternoon, occupied with a novel, and only moved by the time the sun went down.

He almost stepped on the message on his way out. “Oh my god, you’re here right now, aren’t you?”

He spun around, as if expecting to find Hyungwon standing behind him. Of course, he wasn’t – Hyungwon was on the second floor, peering down the balcony with a smirk. It was almost adorable how puppy-like he seemed.

Minhyuk knelt down, not even bothering with a cloth, and erased the message with his sleeve.

_I’m Minhyuk. I live around. I heard about this house at school ages ago and I figured I’d see what it’s like. The library is cool._

He paused before writing the next line.

_How did you die?_

Hyungwon considered coming down to chastise Minhyuk in person for such an invasive question, but hesitated. Talking to someone was a step far too out of his comfort zone.

The sky grew darker, and Minhyuk finally left, and not even minutes after he left, Hyungwon wrote his reply.

_You just trespassed into my house and then asked me a very invasive question. That’s not very nice._

_Do you like my house?_

The question felt foolish – childish, even. But Hyungwon had to know. Yes, his house was objectively in bad shape, with its peeling wallpaper and creaky floors, but his house was everything he had. Insulting his house would be an insult on his person – and the inverse was true as well.

It was his intention to phase out of existence, to “sleep” but Hyungwon found his own anxiety preventing him. He paced around his house, waiting for the night to recede, to bring back morning - the time and the person.

He came, eventually, of course, with that ragged backpack he always carried and smiled at the reply on the ground. Wiping down the floor, he deliberated his response before sketching it into the wood.

_I’m sorry, I must’ve forgot my manners. That was pretty rude. About the trespassing – well, fair enough, but how was I supposed to know something lived here? How do I know you’re real?_

_I love your house._

And he drew a heart next to it, and Hyungwon felt like the whole world was at peace. A noise, something like a scoff of affection, left Hyungwon before he even realized it.

Minhyuk looked straight at him.

“Hyungwon?” he gasped.

But the effect of staying up all night had rendered Hyungwon unbearably tired, and he felt himself phase out of existence before he even replied.

 

Hyungwon always reappeared in his house. Where exactly in his house he reappeared, however, seemed to be entirely random.

It was this series of events that led him to show up exactly in front of Minhyuk in the library who visibly squeaked, shutting his book tightly.

“Oh god. Are you-"

Hyungwon blinked rapidly, his mind racing. What could he possibly do, he was standing _in front of him_ , it’s broad daylight, he couldn’t pretend this was some sort of dream-

“Hyungwon?”

What if he just _ran_? Just started running – Hyungwon could probably just run into the attic-

“Yes. It’s me.” Hyungwon finally sighed.

Minhyuk exclaimed. “You’re real!”

“Who do you think was writing those messages, then?” Hyungwon replied, slightly calmer. This was _Minhyuk_ , after all, and even though he knew nothing about him, he could comfortably classify him as a harmless annoyance.

Minhyuk was openly staring at Hyungwon, his eyes roaming up and down. “Wow. You’re quite pale. Not white though. Just kind of… pale. Tall, also.”

Hyungwon felt almost self-conscious at this appraisal, before he reminded himself again this was some random kid who’s opinion really did not matter.

The random kid didn’t appear to care much about Hyungwon’s lack of response. “You’re real, aren’t you? You’re really a ghost? I mean… they aren’t real, are they? But here you are.”

Without warning, he walked forward and grabbed Hyungwon’s hand. His hand didn’t pass through entirely, but more terrifyingly, seemed to stop halfway through. Minhyuk pulled back.

“Fucking hell. That’s not- normal.”

Hyungwon stepped back as well. The single second of contact was wholly unfamiliar, and his entire form seemed to ripple uncomfortably.

“You’re… a ghost. You’re a real ghost. Give me a moment to adjust my views on life and death, would you?” Minhyuk said slumping back into the chair, the novel abandoned on the armrest.

Hyungwon quietly remained in position, his eyes fixated on the library window – the crack repaired itself already from their first encounter.

He should not be doing this, this was quite a bad idea, he was not this stupid surely.

“You’re quite pretty,” he said and Hyungwon would have blushed if he still had blood.

“Thank you.”

Minhyuk propped his chin with his hands. “I’m surprised at this though. You didn’t even reply to my chalk message yet, why did you just suddenly decide to talk to me in person? The last time we spoke face to face you yelled at me to leave.”

“I didn’t exactly decide. I just sort of appeared here,” Hyungwon confessed, bowing his head slightly. “It was too late to move.”

The other seemed unconvinced. “How do you just appear?”

Strings of words tripped on his tongue as he attempted to describe just how death worked. “I’m not always… present. More often than not, I’m gone. As if I’m sleeping. I always wake up, however, and it’s always somewhere in this house.”

Hyungwon had to admit that the kid caught on quickly. “That’s why you disappeared a week ago.”

“Was it a week already?”

“Almost two.” Minhyuk replied with a curious glance. “Don’t you keep up to date?”

“Not really,” Hyungwon admitted. “There’s no point, is there? I don’t have anything to go to.”

Minhyuk was rendered silent for a moment. “I guess you’re right.”

The book he was reading which was placed precariously on the arm rest fell to the floor, and Hyungwon frowned upon seeing it was one of his notebooks.

Picking it up, it appeared Minhyuk made the realization at the same moment. “You’re the Hyungwon who wrote this, aren’t you?”

“I am.” He said, attempting to inject as much audible annoyance as possible in the two words.

 Yet nothing could have prepared him for the look of delight that crossed Minhyuk’s face. “I am so honoured to meet you, oh man. They’re so beautiful! Oh god, I love them.” Minhyuk’s eyes were glowing as he waved his arms around, gesturing wildly. “There’s something so raw and real about them? You inject such emotion into such short words, you weave such a beautiful image…”

He paused. “I suppose that’s why I came here to begin with. Inspiration.” It seemed as if he was expecting Hyungwon to reply.

“Why?” Hyungwon finally said, growing tired of the awkward silence.

The question brought glee to Minhyuk who linked his fingers together and leaned forward. “I’m supposed to be going to music school in a few months, but I feel like there’s nothing deeper to me. There’s nothing to write lyrics about. I just want to find a story, even if it’s someone else’s. Just something... different. This house seemed special enough, but the library is something else. These novels and journals… they’re something else. Your poetry, more than anything else. They’re good. They’re amazing.”

A smile grew on Hyungwon’s face without realizing – until he saw an even bigger one on Minhyuk’s face.

“Did you write these now or…” Minhyuk trailed off. “Before?” was the word he eventually settled on.

“Before.” Hyungwon replied.

It was coming back to him now. Days spent in his room with the door closed and the curtains drawn, sitting on his bedroom floor, sighing as his pen spilt ink across the pages. Every poem, despite the vast differences in quality, were all so uniquely him, all personal, all intended for him alone.

Yet, he wasn’t nearly as upset as he thought he’d be at the knowledge that Minhyuk read his poems.

He… liked them. Found them inspirational. He looked down at Minhyuk, and felt something like a connection, if he still could feel such emotions.

“You really do like commas, don’t you?” Minhyuk laughed.

“Shut up, half of those are ink blots,” Hyungwon said. “How many have you read?”

“A lot,” Minhyuk said, rubbing his chin. “I really liked the one you wrote about the weather and the house.”

“I don’t remember that one.”

“You said that even the sunniest day outside could look like the darkest night in this house.”

“Oh.”

 _That_ one.

Minhyuk was looking at him intently. “Was that a metaphor?”

“How am I supposed to remember? It was decades ago.”

Minhyuk nodded as if he didn’t believe him, but didn’t press the topic, for which Hyungwon was relieved.

“Do you mind?” Minhyuk asked. “I suppose it was different when you were still pretending to not be here, but since we’re talking: if you want me to stop reading your poems, I will.” He added, "I won’t be happy though,” and pouted.

Hyungwon suppressed a smile. “Go ahead. No one else is reading them, so I suppose you can. If I could recommend one, however-”

And if he was to be honest, he wanted to show off, Hyungwon called forth the book telepathically.

“Fucks sake, how can you even do that?” Minhyuk said, cautiously taking the book from Hyungwon’s outstretched head as if expecting it to burn in his fingers.

“I can control my house. Very precisely.”

Minhyuk digested the information before nodding thoughtfully. “Hmm. What exactly can you do?”

“Just about everything.” And to demonstrate, Hyungwon had the window shutters slam shut, the entire room vibrating.

“Can you not!” Minhyuk cried.

Something akin to a giggle slipped out of Hyungwon’s mouth who immediately silenced it. The mixture between wonder and fear on his face was far too enjoyable.

“Do you often talk to people who come into your house?” Minhyuk asked.

“Never.”

“Oh, I’m special?” Minhyuk said, smirking.

His lips pursed, Hyungwon attempted to find an explanation for why he spoke to Minhyuk and none of the other visitors. “You were the only one who ever stayed for so long. Everyone else got bored and left. Also, you wouldn’t stop reading my poetry.”

It was a vague insult that deflected entirely off of Minhyuk. “Well, aren’t I lucky?”

“Yes I’m sure you’re having the time of your life spending all day in a decaying house.”

It was by no means a hurtful comment but it caused Minhyuk to abruptly stand. The library window squeaked as it opened and he frowned upon seeing the streaks of orange across the sky. “I had a feeling as much. It’s getting late.”

“Is it?”

He rapped his fingers on the windowsill. “I really can’t be home late. My mom will be unbearable.” He turned to face Hyungwon. “I need to go.”

The question of “ _Do you have to?”_ died on Hyungwon’s lips and he merely nodded in affirmation. “If you want to.”

“I don’t _want_ to, but I have to. But you’ll be back here tomorrow, right?” There was such genuine sincerity and eagerness in his voice it was difficult to cope.

“Probably.”

“I’ll see you then, okay?”

“Okay.”

Minhyuk looked as if was expecting something more, perhaps even a wave of sorts, but when none came he walked towards the front door. Before he turned the handle, it swung open at Hyungwon’s command.

Minhyuk grinned.  “Thanks, but you know I can do that myself?” He took one last look at Hyungwon, his smile faltering. “This is real right? You’re not some sort of hallucination, right? You’re really a ghost?”

“You keep asking me that.”

“It’s a lot to take in,” Minhyuk said. “It’s just…” He looked outside. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

He didn’t.

When Hyungwon awoke, he found the return of the chalk messages.

_It’s been ~~2 3 4 5 6 7~~ 8 days. Are you mad or just tired? What do you even do when you disappear? Anyway, I’ll be here. _

Something akin to guilt coiled itself in Hyungwon’s stomach. It wasn’t as if he _intended_ to be gone for so long, he genuinely couldn’t control it-

And he wondered as to why he was justifying this to himself. Minhyuk was, as he had to keep reminding him, a random kid who meant nothing to him and whom Hyungwon meant nothing to as well.

Minhyuk wasn’t in the house at that very moment, the only presence in it was Hyungwon’s own.

Sighing, he picked up the chalk. He didn’t _want_ to apologize but it seemed like the right thing to do.

_I'_ _m sorry. I didn'_ _t mean to be gone for so long. I'_ _l try and be around the next time you visit. As for what I do when I disappear: nothing. It'_ _s like dying. I don_ _’_ _t dream, I don_ _’_ _t think. I_ _’_ _ll see you soon._

“Hyungwon!”

It was a literal scream and the entire house seemed to protest at the noise, responding with creaking and groaning. Minhyuk was an entire _floor_ away, at the front door, and his voice carried all the way to the second.

“I’m here! Stop yelling!” Hyungwon called back hoarsely.

He rubbed his temples, more for the metaphorical gesture than any actual relief he could bring. It had been only seconds since he phased back into existence and he already wished he could disappear again.

He had appeared in his parent’s bedroom, a room he hardly went into both when he was alive and when he was dead.

Sighing, he turned to leave and was confronted with the sight of the blond menace himself.

“Hyungwon! There you are!”

Stunned beyond words, Hyungwon merely stared at Minhyuk.

“You have far too many bedrooms in this house, honestly. I must have gone into like three until I found this one, and there’s probably more right? How often did you have house guests?” Minhyuk said, gazing at the room, excitement vivid in his eyes. “If it was me, I would never sleep in the same room. I’d change nightly, maybe even twice in the same night. There are just so many options-”

“What are you… doing here?” Hyungwon managed to stammer out. There was something so… so _wrong_ with Minhyuk in his bright blue sweater and white sneakers with that blond hair contrasted with the gothic pristine nature of his parents’ master bedroom. Their room was the closest thing to sacred in this house. Perhaps it was just the effect of his childhood, but even though Hyungwon was the sole owner and could go anywhere, it felt so wrong to be in their room – and even more wrong to have brought this random person in it.

For one, if his parents were here, they’d probably throw Minhyuk out and call him common scum.

The thought of his parents disapproving of Minhyuk was an enjoyable idea, on further consideration. Eyeing him now, Hyungwon realized the Chae family would _hate_ him. He could just picture the lecture his father would give him, sitting on his study chair, blowing the clouds of smoke in his face, an acrid aroma hitting him, and looking down his glasses, preparing to tell Hyungwon in exact terms how Minhyuk was a waste of life. He was far too noisy and chatty, far too _bright_.

“Are you done leering?” Minhyuk said with an amused grin.

Hyungwon scrunched up his face. He forgot that he wasn’t alone and there was in fact someone _watching_ him. “I wasn’t- that wasn’t- leering-”

He smirked. “Of course. I’m not going to pry, just in case you decide to fold in on yourself and disappear forever.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Hyungwon grumbled, but grateful for the mercy.

“What room are we in? It looks fancy?” Minhyuk commented, letting his fingers rest along the wooden dresser. He looked inside it, nodding at the stray button on the floor. “Love the fashion.”

“It’s my parents’ room.”

Minhyuk looked at Hyungwon with a comical expression of shock. “Your parents? Are they…”

“Dead? Yes.”

“But-”

“Yes, they’re actually dead. Once they were in the ground, they didn’t come back. That kind of dead. The normal kind,” Hyungwon clarified. “This was their room.”

“It’s weird to think you had parents. Feels like you just kind of popped here one day, fully formed and condescending.” Minhyuk said, now taking the opportunity to look at the picture frames. “Was that your mom? She looks hot.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“She looks _desirable_ ,” Minhyuk said, gesturing to the frame.

“I don’t know how to respond to that.”

Minhyuk laughed, another sound that didn’t fit with his parents’ room.  “So your actual mom and dad lived here? What happened to them?”

The actual question was cleverly buried in that – _what happened to you that didn’t happen to them?_

“They died after me, if that’s what you want to know. The way all living things die. No tragic backstory.”

Truthfully, Hyungwon did not know exactly how his parents died. He did know that by the time he woke up for the first time, his house was entirely vacant and devoid of life. From what he could guess from the occasional neighbourhood visitors, the house had lost its origin – no longer was it the Chae Mansion, but, rather “that house”. Eventually, they just had to logically be deceased, as entire decades had passed.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Minhyuk assured, with surprising gentleness.

“It doesn’t really affect me.” He shrugged. “I suppose I envy them. They got to stop existing.”

“You didn’t choose this?”

“Never.”

The force at which that reply was said rendered Minhyuk temporarily speechless. In an effort to cover up his shock, he remarked: “Oh nice bed.” before flopping down on it without further question, his face stricken with shock as his smile dissolved. “I take it back, this feels like rocks.”

Hyungwon smirked, amused but trying to be annoyed. “Making yourself comfortable?”

Minhyuk struggled against the pillow. “I was trying to but it’s hard with you judging me that much.” He eyed Hyungwon. “Are you sure you’re a ghost? You don’t act like one.”

“Evidence seems to suggest so,” Hyungwon replied. “I remember dying, for one. I can also walk through walls and move things with my mind.”

Minhyuk stretched himself out further on the bed. The master bedroom was undoubtedly glamorous when it was maintained, when his mother used to have servants dust the place twice daily, but now it was as peeling and musty as every other room in the house. Hyungwon kept his qualms about Minhyuk inviting himself onto his deceased parents’ marital bed to himself.  “What if you got hit by a car and now you’re in a coma all this time?”

Hyungwon was standing with his back to the windowsill, staring at the room almost perplexed. When he didn’t answer the question, Minhyuk cleared his throat.

“What if you’re in a coma? And you’re in some hospital bed all these years?”

“I heard you the first time.”

“Well?”

“I think I look rather good for a hundred year old, wouldn’t you say?” Hyungwon replied.

“You look far too good for any age,” Minhyuk replied and Hyungwon found himself staring at the ground. “It could be possible, though? You’re some sort of astral projection from your dying body as it rots away in a hospital bed, it’s sort of the last moment of brain activity you possess before you succumb- oh, that was a bit too much wasn’t it?”

“Minhyuk, I really don’t think I’m in a coma.”

“I can look up coma patients from the past few decades, if you’d like?” Minhyuk began, a gleam in his eye, digging his hands into a pillow. “There’s a hospital nearby here, I’m sure you’ve been there before it’s the one with those gates-”

And Hyungwon, who was quickly developing the habit of interrupting Minhyuk’s more impractical train of thoughts, intervened with: “I’m not in a coma. I think the reason I know I’m dead is because I remember.” Hyungwon shrugged. “I can’t explain it. It’s like how you know you’re alive.”

Hazel eyes widened. “Am I alive, though? What if I’m dead too?”

The wardrobe door abruptly swung open and shut and Minhyuk yelped. “You don’t need to keep doing that to prove a point, you know?!”

Minhyuk rolled onto his side, propping himself up with an arm. “Okay, fine - so you’re a ghost. And you remember your death exactly? Did you know you were dying?”

He turned to face the window. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a private matter.”

“But you do remember it, right? Otherwise you would have told me you didn’t.”

Hyungwon repeated himself. “It’s a private matter.”

“You don’t mind telling me other even more private things to be fair,” Minhyuk replied, with a tone of playfulness but a look that suggested deep interest. “I’d say we’ve become on somewhat good terms. We’ve exchanged messages for a month. I’m literally on your parents’ bed. Isn’t that enough trust for you?” 

“I’m not telling you how I died, so drop the tone.”

“Fine.” Minhyuk replied, sticking his tongue out. “You’re really grumpy.”

“Yeah but I’m dead. You’re annoying – what’s your excuse?” he heard Hyungwon reply, and Minhyuk repressed a smile.

 

Hyungwon observed that the trail of drool pouring out of Minhyuk’s mouth had already dried by the time he woke up.

“What? Oh god, Hyungwon it’s you. What’s up?” Minhyuk grumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Twilight filled the room and Hyungwon, who had deliberated waking him up for the better part of an hour, finally gently shook him with semi-solid hands. He really ought to, it was getting far too late –

But there was something so serene about Minhyuk. He was quiet, for one – but more than that, there was a mask of serenity on his face, a look of comfort and happiness and it was one that Hyungwon would not deny that he enjoyed seeing.

“Minhyuk…”

He opened an eye. “Did I fall asleep? I need to stop waking up at dawn, honestly, it’s getting ridiculous.”

“Minhyuk…”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Minhyuk eventually snapped.

Hyungwon appeared almost nervous. “It’s almost sunset. You should get going.” Hyungwon paused. “If you want to.”

The second Minhyuk dragged his sleepy gaze away from Hyungwon and to the darkened window his eyes shifted from tired to wide awake in seconds. “Oh fuck,” he swore, jumping off the bed on unsteady feet, nearly crashing back into it. “Oh god, I’m so late, I need to leave.”

He shoved his feet in his sneakers, and ran down the stairs without a second glance. “See you tomorrow!”

For a man who lived life in a state of perpetual delay, it took Hyungwon far longer than he was proud of to process that mere seconds ago, the same body that was asleep on his parents’ bed was now already gone.

In his haste, he left his jacket behind, draped across the wardrobe. It was the creamy brown one, the one that suited his figure nicely, and it looked far too odd to leave it in his parents’ room – seemed wrong.

He lifted it up with relative ease, his body more physical than he thought. He couldn’t feel the textures of the fabric, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable sensation – rather it just felt… _nice_.

He took the effort to deliberately walk downstairs and hang it on a coat rack that looked as if it might collapse in that same second.

Lifting the chalk, he carved a new message on the wood – the first in a while.

 

_I like your jacket. Don’t take naps in my parents’ bed anymore._

“Ever since you wore my jacket, it smells funny. Not unpleasant. Just… weird.” Minhyuk said.

“I did not wear your jacket!”

That was a lie. Hyungwon did wear his jacket. When Hyungwon woke up, it was still before dawn, and with nothing to do and unable to return back to death, he wandered around the house and couldn’t resist trying the jacket on.

It didn’t exactly _fit_ , but it made him feel warmer, which was a welcome change in sensation. He looked at his reflection in the entrance hall cabinet, and it made him feel… more real. It had a trace of warmth – not enough to feel any change but enough to tell him at some point it _was_ warm, and even that was beyond him to consider. 

But he would rather die again than let Minhyuk know that.

“Don’t lie to me. Come on,” Minhyuk said, pacing around the library. “Did you at least look good in it?”

 Hyungwon ignored him. “Did you get home in time?”

“I did. But Hyungwon,” Minhyuk said, slowly enunciating each word as if rehearsed. “I have another question about death.”

“If you wish,” Hyungwon replied. He could understand Minhyuk’s morbid fascination with death, and he wouldn’t begrudge the boy by not answering his questions. Truthfully, if Hyungwon could, he would have gladly asked someone else the same questions, if perhaps a bit more tactfully.

Minhyuk settled in his usual chair in the library, and Hyungwon sat across from him, and crossed his fingers. “Yes?”

Minhyuk hesitated. “Have you ever met another… another ghost?”

“Never.” Hyungwon answered bluntly.

“Do you think you’re the only-”

He cut him off. “I don’t know.  I haven’t met any, haven’t gone out to meet any either. I think you’d be in a better position to answer that question than me. Have you met another ghost?”

Minhyuk seemed surprised at having the question thrown back at him. “No. Never. I’ve been to a few so-called haunted houses, you know, but they’re always just obvious fakes.”

The concept intrigued Hyungwon. “Fake? How would you know?”

He rubbed his hands over knuckles. “It just feels wrong, you know? It’s so overdramatic. There’s shadows moving around, there are howls in the basement, there’s always bloodstains everywhere… it’s just not real. Your house – you – are far more boring. When I first came here, it seemed like any normal house, honestly, if just old fashioned.”

“I’m certain that was some kind of compliment.” Hyungwon replied.

Minhyuk did not pick up on the sarcasm. “And, I’ve had family that died, my grandparents… none of them ever came back. I’ve gone to funerals, and I’ve never seen someone or had anything similar to what I’ve seen with you. You’re different.”

That would not be the first time Hyungwon heard that said to him, in life as well as death. “Do you really think I’m the only ghost in the world?”

Minhyuk bit the inside of his cheek. “I don’t want to make a bold statement, but maybe, you are? Surely you’d at least be able to _feel_ if there were others like you?”

Hyungwon did not see a need to admit to Minhyuk that before he met him, Hyungwon felt little at all.

“I think I’m alone.” Hyungwon finally said.

He looked up and Minhyuk had a troubled expression on his face, as if all he wanted to do was hold his hand. That of course, would be pointless, as it wasn’t as if Hyungwon could even feel any sensation, and Minhyuk certainly didn’t need the comfort.

“Hyungwon, I want to ask you something, but it might be terrible.”

Something between a laugh and a sigh escaped Hyungwon. “It hasn’t stopped you before.”

Yet, it seemed like it would stop him now. Minhyuk had his eyes fixed on the floor, when he managed to whisper out the words, “Why do you think you are here, and no one else is?”

The question hung like a thread between the two, and Hyungwon could not begin to try and answer it. When no words left his mouth, Minhyuk looked up at him with guilt vivid in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

“You didn’t offend. I’m just not sure how to answer,” Hyungwon said. “I don’t know. I didn’t want this and I don’t think I deserved it either.” At Minhyuk’s surprised expression, Hyungwon clarified. “I had no one to look over when I died. I’ve got no unfinished business, no one needs me as a guardian angel. There is no point in me sticking around, yet here I am, some hundred years later, in the same house.  I wonder why I’m so special.”

“I wonder why too,” Minhyuk said, in that blunt way of his. “You still haven’t told me how you died-”

“And I’m still not going to. It’s not a pleasant story, and I don’t think you’ll look at me in the same way again,” Hyungwon said simply.

Minhyuk had clearly gotten more comfortable, because rather than dropping the topic, Minhyuk theatrically pouted, resting his face in his hands, and widening his eyes. He gazed at Hyungwon, longingly. “I’m just trying to understand you better, and the way you died is very important to why you’re in this situation.”

“I doubt that.”

“But you don’t know for sure.”

Hyungwon did not respond, rapping his fingers on the wood, observing how every third or fourth time, his fingers would phase through.

“Do you not trust me?”

There was no accusation in Minhyuk’s tone, just curiosity. Hyungwon did not immediately answer, reflecting on it. Did he trust this blond haired boy who appeared one day, and never left? He trusted him up to this point – but perhaps because it was all about something so impermanent. Telling Minhyuk about ghosts and dead parents had no basis in reality, not really, and up to this point, it was just pointless talk.

But his death was real. His death happened, and the reality of it, seemed to weigh down on him as he stared at the boy in front of him. For as much as he enjoyed Minhyuk’s company, and as much as he developed a growing affection, the difference between the two will never be more clear than when Minhyuk is able to comprehend exactly how _dead_ he was. But he couldn’t tell that to him. “I do trust you. Just not with that.”

Minhyuk seemed unsatisfied with the answer. “Well. That’s fair enough.”

He opened the book he was reading – a novel Hyungwon never read, and the conversation was clearly over.

Perhaps building the expectation was the wrong idea, his death was hardly spectacular or memorable – but it just felt too personal, a wound that had not yet healed.

Yet, it was nice to sit in companionable silence as Minhyuk read and Hyungwon stared into space. It felt like what friendship was supposed to be like.

“I’m sorry to have to go, but it’s almost eight, and I can’t be home late again.” Minhyuk said, hours later, breaking the silence.

“Of course. Your mother worries.”

“What was your curfew like? You don’t seem to think that sunset is too early?”

Hyungwon pursed his lips. “I wouldn’t be able to say so. I never really went out, so I never had a time I should be back.”

Minhyuk looked at him, head cocked to the side. “Hyungwon, how old are you?”

He had to think about it. “Twenty two.”

“You’re a year older than me,” Minhyuk remarked.

“I think I’m about a hundred years older than you, if you want to be specific,” Hyungwon replied.

“You speak rather normally.”

Hyungwon shrugged. Just because he didn’t speak to the intruders of his over the years, didn’t mean he didn’t listen to them.

“You still won’t tell me, will you?” Minhyuk asked and Hyungwon merely nodded.

The pair stood up, as if Hyungwon was about to escort him home. Minhyuk seemed reserved but it was impossible to tell if it was from the conversation or his departure. The front door was open, and the evening air blew in, but Minhyuk did not take a step further.

“Goodbye,” Hyungwon said, wondering if he was waiting for a farewell.

“Do you think one day you’ll move on?” Minhyuk asked suddenly, his voice so soft, and his eyes glassy.

“Move on?” Hyungwon knew exactly what Minhyuk was referring to, but felt like the precious seconds of stalling could just help him collect his thoughts for a moment more.

“To where all the people who don’t end up as ghosts go,” Minhyuk clarified diplomatically. “Do you think one day you’ll just wake up and won’t be here anymore?”

And Hyungwon said something he had been keeping to himself for the past hundred years. “I think that if I could move on, I would have already.”

That look of sympathy entered Minhyuk’s eyes again and Hyungwon wished he could wipe it off. It was humiliating to be pitied so obviously. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Hyungwon closed the door physically, rather than through his control of the house, if just to add some sense of normality. Hyungwon briefly considered cleaning one of the second floor bedrooms in case Minhyuk ever wanted to spend the night, out of convenience, not because he _wanted_ to or anything -  but before he even reached the final step, he was out of existence.

 

Who was the woman?

Minhyuk had asked him, days earlier, whose flower hairclip was on one of the library shelves. It was ornate and clearly feminine in nature, and coated with dust.

“It would look good on me, honestly. Can I have it?” Minhyuk asked, immediately clipping his fringe back.

He looked silly with the giant flower – but it also made his whole face seemed brighter.

“Go ahead. It’s not mine,” Hyungwon shrugged, not removing his gaze from the clip fastened to his hair.

“Whose is it, then?” Minhyuk asked. 

And Hyungwon stared. “I don’t know.”

“Honestly, Hyungwon, do you have a mirror in this house at all?”

Hyungwon opened one of the cabinets in the entrance hall that revealed a mirror with large cracks running through it. Through the distorted image, he could still make out his and Minhyuk’s reflection.

“Should I ask the obvious question of why it’s broken?”

“I got tired of seeing how ghostly I was. So I broke it.”

Minhyuk nodded. “Fair enough. Can you fix it?”

The cracks in the mirror resealed themselves and the image regained its clarity, revealing Minhyuk with a look of impressed bewilderment, and Hyungwon with smugness written all over his face.

Minhyuk patted his fringe. “Oh this does look beautiful. Are you sure it isn’t a lady friend of yours from your wilder days?” Minhyuk asked, winking. “Can’t even recall her name? You dog!”

Hyungwon snorted, far too loudly. “Never. I can assure you I had no ladies in this house. It isn’t mine. I’ve never seen it before, actually.”

He was not entirely sure why he felt the need to emphasize there were never any women dropping off jewellery and hair accessories off, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

To his credit, it didn’t look as if Minhyuk thought anything was odd. He took it out of his hand and observed it. “Then whose is it?”

 

And Hyungwon still attempted to figure out whose hair clip it was, days later. He never saw his mother wear it, he had no female cousins or girlfriends that would have left it behind...

Slowly, a vague memory started coming back to him, sort of a distant dream of a woman with jet black hair who walked the halls nightly, her knuckles white with fear as she gripped the worn banisters.

He would have forgotten her, but she used to scream and curse so loudly that it was hard to banish the thought. He had only recently returned, he remembered how uncomfortable it was to move, how frustrating it was to be unable to be physical. He was still awkward, still angry, and the entire house used to scream and the woman would scream back. As Hyungwon fumed about his fate, the house would grow cold, and the woman would wail.

She left one night after a storm and never came back, and frankly Hyungwon was happy with that. He didn’t want someone like her in his precious house anyway. So what if the walls sometimes groaned? It was just an extension of himself - hardly anything worth fearing. And yes, sometimes the water ran thick and red, but those things just happen sometimes, it was nothing to be _afraid_ of. It wasn’t like Hyungwon would ever hurt anyone.

He couldn’t. His passive effect was tangentially related to his house and nothing more. To his own credit, he remembered an occasion where he tried to comfort the screaming woman, but it was as if he was nothing but air. His attempts to rub her back soothingly caused the room’s temperature to drop, and she screamed even louder.  He tried to whisper to her, but all that came out were the hoarse sounds of wind battering against the house.

Up to that point he never truly _understood_ that he was dead.

That incident was the turning point. He wasn’t meant to interact with _them_ anymore, he wasn’t part of _them_ anymore – he was just a shadow on the wall, a whisper in the dark and a ghost in an abandoned house.

He wondered how he could have forgotten that.

 

When Minhyuk showed up later that day, there was something like nervousness in the air. He wasn’t meant to talk or befriend people anymore, he couldn’t-

“Why do you look more spaced out than usual, today?” Minhyuk asked, tossing his backpack onto the library floor. Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “Come on, I want you to read this passage from one of the novels you have, I think you’ll like it.”

And he felt so much lighter and so much more real and when he walked to the bookshelf, his footsteps were as solid as Minhyuk’s. 

 Hyungwon pressed the hairclip into his hand with the force of someone living and breathing.

“Keep it.”

“Did you find out who’s it is?”

“No. But it’s not important, is it?”

“Hardly,” Minhyuk said, clipping his hair back. “I like it. Thank you Hyungwon.”

 

He never even bothered knocking anymore.

He’d just turn the handle and walk in, usually remarking about the weather and walking into the library. Today, was no exception.

“Hyungwonnie?”

Hyungwon, who had currently been sitting on the staircase (waiting for Minhyuk to show up), tracing circles in the dust with his mind, looked up. The inquisitive tone in Minhyuk’s voice alerted Hyungwon to the assumption that Minhyuk had not even noticed him.

“I’m here,” he said.

“Hyungwonnie?” Minhyuk sang, standing up now, walking in the opposite direction of the staircase. Hyungwon silently chided himself and stood up as well, following him with silent footsteps.

It was not until Minhyuk turned around that he saw Hyungwon in front of him, and gasped. “Oh there you are! I thought you weren’t here today.”

“I was on the staircase. Did you even look?” he replied, a smile playing on his lips.

Minhyuk had the grace to look abashed. “Not particularly hard. How are you today, Hyungwonnie?”

“Where did that nickname come from?” Hyungwon asked, crossing his arms.

“I think it’s cute.”

“I hate it.”

Minhyuk nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve taken your opinion into consideration and decided to disregard it entirely. You can give me a nickname if you want.”

Hyungwon thought fondly of the days where he only knew as ‘Morning’. “I think random trespassing kid is quite good.”

“Wordy, though.” Minhyuk gestured his head towards the library. “Can you point me to that book you spoke about last week?” He hesitated. “You’ve been a lot more frequent, lately, you know?”

“How frequent?”

“Literally every day for the past two weeks. When we first met you used to disappear for weeks,” Minhyuk commented.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Hyungwon said. He really hadn’t.

“Just thought it was worth mentioning.”

“I’m sure I’ll disappear for about ten months soon enough, don’t get too comfortable,” Hyungwon replied, as a joke and a warning.

“Oh, someone’s not very optimistic.”

“You can’t begrudge me for being negative,” Hyungwon said. He never thought of himself as cynical – cynical implied a certain form of umbrage against life, distrust against other people. Hyungwon didn’t distrust other people – he didn’t even know any other people besides the one in front of him with the bright smile.  “But I mean I am dead.”

“Were you as grumpy before as well?”

And Hyungwon thought about it, thought about the way he spoke to his parents. “No. I wasn’t. I was quiet.”

“Quiet?” Minhyuk repeated.

“I didn’t have many friends. I stayed inside most days. I had a tutor so I didn’t even go to school.”

It was fine, really. It just meant more time to write. It was difficult at times, of course, because there was that part of him that always craved that kind of affection or bond which seemed to come so effortless to everyone else – but it was fine. Hyungwon wrote – and if his poems always seemed to have a solitary narration, it wasn’t because he was lonely or anything.

Minhyuk crossed his arms. “But surely you must have had some friends in the neighbourhood? The children of family friends?”

Recalling memories of before was like crawling through fog. There were glimpses, all indistinct. Hyungwon pried through his memory trying to recall any young faces. But there were none – and Hyungwon knew his first assumption was correct. He didn’t have friends. That was fine, of course, he didn’t really get along with people his own age, and he liked the quiet anyway.

“Possibly? If there were, they were never close enough for me to remember. Besides, my father only used to bring his work colleagues to the house, never their children. There was no steady flow of people my age coming through, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

A frown was on Minhyuk’s face. “So you’ve never had a real friend?”

The thought caused an empty feeling inside, for reasons he could not explain. “I haven’t.”

Just as quickly as the frown appeared, it was replaced by a sunshine grin. “Well then, aren’t you glad you have me? I’m probably the only friend you’ll ever need! I’m multi-talented, you know?”

And oddly enough, he felt less empty. “The only reason I even know you is because you’re a serial trespasser.”

“That’s rather harsh, I was just looking for some inspiration. You’re a poet, Hyungwon, you know the allure of the muse.” And then he had to add on, “It’s not like you were doing anything better.”

It was a joke – the rational part of Hyungwon knew that. Minhyuk obviously meant it as a joke, but the second Hyungwon heard the words, the entire room grew conspicuously cold as Hyungwon glared ahead.

“Did I leave the door or something open?” Minhyuk asked, rubbing his arms together, suppressing the gooseflesh.

“Let me check for you,” Hyungwon replied acidly, and in one deafening thud, all doors of the house swung open and then immediately shut. “Guess it’s just me.”

Minhyuk was clearly more perceptive than he gave him credit for. “Of course, I was joking when I made that remark. I mean I’m sure you were doing something-”

“I wasn’t.”

He wasn’t. Hyungwon was doing nothing but waiting for time to pass. That’s what he _always_ did. It wasn’t as if he could do much else – he couldn’t even leave this house. And Hyungwon was arguing this in his own head because as he looked at Minhyuk, he just felt such a divide between them, and it was one that could not begin to be bridged.

Hyungwon was reminded of his initial concerns – how could he ever expect Minhyuk to understand what it was like to exist like this? It wasn’t his fault – he was alive, Hyungwon wasn’t.  He wished he’d stop feeling that emptiness every time he thought of that fact.

It seemed ridiculous that mere seconds ago, he felt such an attachment to the boy in the room, and now he felt as if a stranger was in his home. He felt himself in these walls, and this intrusion was far too personal, Minhyuk was far too close inside.

Minhyuk chose his words carefully. “And that’s fine, of course, I mean I’ve spent quite a few years doing nothing as well-”

“But you didn’t spend as many years as me, did you? You still had your friends, and your family?”

A breath passed, and the tips of Minhyuk’s ears were bright red. “Hyungwon, I’m sorry if I upset you, but you’re making the room unbearably cold.”

He was. Frost crystals crawled their way up the library window, and the entire room was bathed in mist, and Minhyuk in his thin shirt, seemed to be visibly shivering.

Hyungwon was tempted to bathe the entire house in an icy storm – sure, he did nothing for a good several decades but he _could_ do many things. He _could_ let the entire house implode upon itself till just rubble remained - 

“I can see you’re upset with what I said,” Minhyuk said. “I’m sorry.”

But the damage was done and the front door swung open viciously.

“You’re kicking me out? That’s really what you’re going to do?”

The front door slammed shut, the reverberations sounding throughout the house.

“Oh, can you stop acting like a child!” Minhyuk snorted, slamming his foot down on a loose floorboard. The nails fell out, rolling across the floor, and the wood groaned.

“Like the same child I was when I died?” 

“Oh don’t be dramatic! You were twenty two when you died! You were by no means a ‘child’,” Minhyuk couldn’t resist lashing back.

“Twenty two does not mean that I lived, Minhyuk. Would you be satisfied if you died right now? Right this second?”

Minhyuk exhaled loudly. “That’s different.”

“I barely lived, Minhyuk? You know that? And it’s not about my age – I barely lived because I barely even left the house. You talk so casually about your life, about the hospital down the road, or the corner shop – I don’t know those. I barely knew what lay outside of the confines of my house let alone this city.” Hyungwon's isolation by no means started with his death. “I never did any of the things I said I wanted to in my poetry. I never saw any of the places I wanted to, I never breathed the air on the top of mountains, I never swam in the ocean and most of all I never _lived_ and now I can never leave this place.”

The second the words left him, he wished he could collect them and bottle them up, lock them away where they belong because words like that _weren’t meant to be said aloud_. They were true, of course, of course – there was no point _lying_. But they weren’t meant to be said, and they especially won’t meant to be heard by the bright eyed blond who stood in front of him.

His face fell. There were several failed starts before Minhyuk actually spoke words. “Hyungwon, you need to tell me these things. I… You can’t just lash out at me.”

But Hyungwon was not in the mood to listen to a rational conversation, and he was not in a mood to see that look of absolute pity and sympathy scrawled on Minhyuk’s face.

“I just want to understand you.”

The divide felt like entirely different worlds between them.

“I wish I could do more to help you-” he began.

Hyungwon cut him off instantly. “But you can’t. I know you can’t. I don’t expect you to.”

Minhyuk reached out his arm as if he wanted to cross the distance between them, but seemed to think better of it.

“Hyungwon, you can’t just…” words failed Minhyuk. “Hyungwon…”

“I think we’ve had enough of each other.”

But Hyungwon had already begun to dissipate and he could see the look in Minhyuk’s eyes – that he already knew it was pointless to try and stop him. The last thing he heard was a hefty sigh escape him.

 

When Hyungwon opened his eyes again, he saw the sleeping form over the armchair in the library. His fluffy golden hair was in his eyes, and a trickle of drool escaped his open mouth. His hand, raw and bruised, brushed against the floor.

Hyungwon was obviously staring, but the sleeping Minhyuk did not stir. Hyungwon thought that in that moment he would not mind existing forever, if just to continue watching something just so beautiful be quite so perfect.

Drifting around his house, Hyungwon noticed the chalk on the floor – two days since he was last awake.

However, more interesting to the ghost, was his front door which boasted a shiny coat of varnish. Ah – that would explain his hands.

Minhyuk woke, hours later, and saw the ghost in front of him and sleepily smiled. “You came back.”

“Thank you for fixing my door,” Hyungwon said, and then added. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re welcome. It’s nice to see you again. You’re looking rather ghostly today.”

“You look rather drool-filled.” Hyungwon commented.

He pulled a face. “No need to be rude. Especially when I’ve given you such a lovely gift.”

“What could you possibly give me?” Hyungwon asked.

“My company,” he said, framing his face and smiling broadly. Hyungwon’s unintended sigh caused Minhyuk to laugh, and he stepped from the chair to fetch his backpack. “You could at least pretend to be happy.”

“That’s far too difficult.” Hyungwon walked forward, his eyes falling to the backpack.

Next to his backpack lay several sheets of sandpaper and the empty pot of varnish.

“You really did varnish my door all by yourself, didn’t you?”

“Cool, right? Maybe I should have been a carpenter instead of a devilishly handsome music student,” he said wistfully, digging in his backpack. “Seriously though, your door needed it. Do you know how many splinters were in that door on account of you slamming it every time you get fussy? Have you ever actually tried using the handle rather than just shutting it with your ghostly powers?”

Well, Hyungwon reflected, no. “You’re the only one who ever opens the door.”

“That’s still no reason to be so reckless. What if I get a splinter? What will you do?”

“Laugh.”

Minhyuk suppressed a grin, and then looked down. “I’m sorry. It’s still strange for me to know ghosts are real, and that they’re… normal.”

It was probably the first time Hyungwon was ever called normal.

“Well, anyway, before I was working on the door I was looking for gloves. I couldn’t find any. Do you have any gloves here?”

Hyungwon, who had been wearing the same outfit for a literal century, said: “How would I know?”

Minhyuk shrugged. “Worth a try, I suppose.”

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a golden pocket watch, and twirled the chain around his fingers. “While I was digging around, I found this buried in some drawer in one of the spare rooms. It looks old. Is it yours?”

Hyungwon instantly attempted to grab it, but his fingers passed through it entirely.

“You always make me forget I’m dead,” he grumbled. Hyungwon ignored the brief look of shock that fluttered across his face. “I do know that pocket watch, however.”

From sight alone, he could confirm it. It was too distinctive to be a copy, it even had the same dent near the hinge.

“It’s quite a bit of bling. I never imagined you to be strolling around the neighborhood with this piece.” Minhyuk remarked, flipping the pocket watch over.

“It’s not mine. It’s my father’s.”

“Damn,” Minhyuk whistled. “Your dad had some serious cash, didn’t he?”

Hyungwon pursed his lips. “Well. I do live in a very big house, don’t I?”

He could see the _exact_ moment the gears in Minhyuk’s mind connected and the realization dawned. “Oh my god. You were rich?”

And there was no other way to put it. “I was.”

It was as if Minhyuk had stepped in the house for the first time. He ran out to the entrance hall, and marveled at the high ceiling. “I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out. It all makes sense. You’re an _heir_.”

“I guess so. I didn’t inherit anything, so I don’t think it mattered.”

Minhyuk’s voice was aghast. “You can pay my university tuition. You can buy me a car! Do you know I have to walk here every day? That hill is no joke.”

Hyungwon laughed. “Sure, I’ll pay for all of that. What would you like to sell first: the moldy carpets in the bedroom or the library of personal journals that no one cares about?”

The stars in Minhyuk’s eyes seem to fall out. “Okay. That makes sense. Still, I can’t believe I’m friends with someone rich. Could you leave me in your will?”

Something like a laugh escaped Hyungwon. “Sure, I can do that. Only if you leave me in yours.”

“You just want my jacket,” Minhyuk pouted.

“I keep telling you I didn’t wear it!”

“And I keep telling you _it smells like ghost_.” 

  Hyungwon rolled his eyes – and then paused, trying to find the words. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“It’s fine. I had it coming. I’m just glad you’re back. Anyway we’re even now, you have a new door and I’m an heir.”

“You’re not- It doesn’t work…” Hyungwon broke off. “Yes, sure, you’re my heir. If I die, again, you can have the house.”

Minhyuk brought the pocket watch to his eye. “It’s really fancy, though. What did your dad even do?”

If Hyungwon thought of his mother once every year, he thought of his father once every decade. What little memories he had of the man had been worn away with time, leaving behind only vague thoughts.

“He was a banker of sorts. Worked with lots of money. He was in government? I’m sure. He had lots of important meetings.”

“Did you get along with him?” Minhyuk asked.

“Do you get along with _your_ father?” Hyungwon shot back.

“Okay, calm down, no need to get all misty.”

Hyungwon had a retort but bit it back, noticing the fog slowly exuding from the walls. 

“I’m only asking because it doesn’t seem like you know what he does. Seems a bit strange.” Minhyuk raised his hands, and stepped back. “Just saying. You don’t have to like him, of course, but then at least be upfront about it.”

The question of whether he liked his father (the word ‘love’ was not even an option) was far more difficult than he thought. “He was very focused on his work.”

“Yes. Whatever his work was, he was certainly focused on it,” Minhyuk said, a visible hint of sarcasm in his tone.

But he stopped himself. “Okay, sorry. I was just curious. He must have made a lot of money, that’s all.”

Minhyuk abruptly closed the pocket watch. “Should I put it back?”

“Actually – keep it,” Hyungwon said, shaking his head. “I don’t want it.” Upon noticing the confusion in Minhyuk’s face, he added: “It’s not like it’s of any use to me.”

“It isn’t, but wouldn’t you like to keep it? You don’t have much other memorabilia of your parents left in this house. This could be the last one.”

“I don’t want it. It’s gold. Sell it. Buy a car. Stop complaining about having to walk here every day.”

Minhyuk laughed. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“I _really_ don’t want it, Minhyuk. I didn’t even notice it was in here, isn’t that enough of a sign?” Hyungwon said, far too eager to watch the pocket watch disappear out of sight again.

Truthfully, it wasn’t just a benevolent gesture towards Minhyuk – the watch didn’t bring back any specific memories but seemed to cast an aura of unhappiness over the house. The sooner it was gone, the sooner it was better.

It was Hyungwon’s house now, after all, not his father’s.

Minhyuk clapped his hands together. “Maybe I’ll actually be able to afford a car before I’m fifty, won’t that be amazing?”

“Do you really walk here every day?” Hyungwon asked. Up to this point, he never actually considered that when Minhyuk left his house, he actually went other places – he didn’t simply disappear out of his existence.

“Oh, it was a joke, Hyungwon, don’t worry about it. Keeps me fit. I don’t need to go the gym anymore,” Minhyuk said, dramatically flexing.

Hyungwon persisted. “But do you?”

“Yes. But it’s not as bad as you think. I stay nearby, it’s only like fifteen minutes. Ten if I run. Twenty if I get caught in the grass, which happens far too frequently.”

“So you just get up in the morning and come here? Every day?”

Minhyuk rubbed his chin. “I guess I do. I never even realized this became a daily thing. When I first came here, it was like once or twice a week. You never used to be so regular, you know? But obviously, I have to get up earlier and do some chores around the house.”

“We had servants,” Hyungwon said, reminiscent.

“Hyungwon, truthfully, if we had lived in the same time, I would have probably been like your butler or someone who shines your shoes.”

“You would not,” Hyungwon replied, not very convincingly.

A grin crossed Minhyuk. “It’s okay. I’m sure you’d pay me well. Maybe if I did a little dance now and then you’d give me tips.” He tilted his head to the side, smiling fondly. “Still, I’m glad we met now, and not as your shoe shiner. You seem like someone who had a lot of shoes.”

“That would be a correct assumption.”

Minhyuk grabbed Hyungwon’s wrist, and only seemed moderately startled when it phased through entirely. “Come on, you haven’t even seen the door yet! You need to see how pretty it looks. Amazing. Only a true master craftsman could ever.”

“You didn’t have to do something nice for me after I yelled at you.” Hyungwon mumbled.

“I would say I’m the bigger person, but I’m not. You’re disturbingly tall. Anyway, enough! Come on, you need to see it.”

 

Ever since Hyungwon learnt that Minhyuk didn’t spontaneously teleport to and from his front door, but rather had an actual life that he sorted out before he _walked_ to his mansion on the hill, Hyungwon had tried to wake up earlier.

To Hyungwon’s credit, he was awake before Minhyuk even arrived. He sat in darkness for several hours, lost in thoughts about why a pocket watch disturbed him so, until light gave way and Hyungwon heard footsteps.

 Decidedly more physical than yesterday, he was forced to manually turn the handle to open the door but it was almost worth it to see the look of excitement on Minhyuk’s face on seeing him in his entirely physical form.

“You picked a great day to be awake this early,” he said brightly, pushing past him. Hyungwon noticed that Minhyuk was wearing a fair amount of outerwear, and had not even removed his coat.

“Are you intending to go out somewhere?” Hyungwon asked.

“I am actually, this was on my way.” Minhyuk faced Hyungwon.

Minhyuk had other places to go? “On your way?” Hyungwon repeated. “Where are you going?”

“I had an idea.” Minhyuk paused for dramatic effect, but Hyungwon’s blank expression did not change. “Look, you don’t need to tell me how you died. That’s your own business. I’m not going to pry. But – could you tell me where your grave is?”

If he could breathe, the air would have left Hyungwon’s lungs. “My _grave_?”

Minhyuk seemed to expect this reaction, because he instantly launched into an explanation that had the rhythm of something meticulously rehearsed. “I know it sounds weird, but I’ve thought about it. Perhaps there’s something wrong with your grave, and that’s why you can’t move on.”

“I can’t leave the house, Minhyuk,” Hyungwon replied, feeling far too unsteady. “I can’t go with you.”

“At all?”

“At all.”

“I thought as much, so I thought that perhaps I could go for you? I’ll even take a photograph for you.” Minhyuk reached into his camera and flashed a thin camera, far sleeker than the ones Hyungwon had been familiar with in his days.

Hyungwon had never seen his gravestone – how could he? He literally was incapable of leaving his front gate.

If he ever _wanted_ to see his gravestone was an entirely different question. It was disconcerting to acknowledge the fact that his body and his… ‘spirit’ were entirely divorced. While he stood right here, as physical as ever, his true body had probably given way to worms and dirt and rotted to dust.

He did have a fairly good idea where his grave should be – at the same cemetery that his entire family line used. 

He looked up at Minhyuk’s eager expression and curiosity filled him. He really shouldn’t, it would be so unnatural to send Minhyuk to look at his grave while he spoke to the living remnant… but when would he ever get this opportunity again?

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Minhyuk clarified.

“You can. I’m not entirely sure where, but it’s most likely at Astrum Greens.” He hesitated. “My family name is Chae.”

Minhyuk nodded, mouthing his full name. “Alright. Thank you. Let me get going now, and I’ll be back soon. Are you going to be okay here?”

There was an adorable hint of concern in Minhyuk’s voice as if he was genuinely worried that Hyungwon would be lonely. “I’ll be fine.” When the look didn’t disappear, he added, “I’ll read a book.”

Minhyuk turned to leave but Hyungwon placed a hand on his shoulder, momentarily surprising himself by how _firm_ and _real_ it felt. He dismissed the thought.

“Do you think it’ll be nice? My grave? I… I want it look nice. I hope that it does.” The words stumbled out of his mouth before he could stop it. “That sounds very strange, I just – it’s the only thing left of me? I’d like to hope that it looks beautiful.” He paused. “Please take a photograph.”

“I will.” Minhyuk said with surprising sincerity. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. And Hyungwon? I’m sure it’s beautiful.” He looked at Hyungwon with wide eyes, and walked forward  - but settled for clasping the hand on his shoulder, before leaving, closing the door behind him.

Ordinarily Hyungwon would just have phased out of existence, but he could not even _contemplate_ missing Minhyuk’s immediate return. It seemed like such a waste of a day to be so physical and yet have nothing to do.

He always existed like this, he thought to himself as he entered his library and opened up one of the books, and tried to read. It was a novel, about poor people being sad, and while the writing was elegant, the words could have been in French for all that he took in. Every time his gaze automatically lifted up he found himself disappointed that there wasn’t a blond boy in the chair in front of him, curled up with a notebook, his gaze serious, but his smile playful.

Hyungwon’s sense of time may have been flawed but as he observed the fading rays of sunset, he realized Minhyuk should have returned several hours ago.

Maybe he just went straight home since it was so late? Did the cemetery even exist anymore? Was it dangerous? Was he okay? Hyungwon’s thoughts followed a steady progression into worry and it was sheer willpower that forced Hyungwon back into his chair. He attempted to focus on the book, but with every passing moment, he grew increasingly concerned on where Minhyuk could possibly be.

He was also increasingly tired. Such an active existence today weighed down on him mentally, and Hyungwon found himself with the further concern of falling asleep and in his condition he would not be able to gauge when he would wake up. It was a constant battle against his desire to rest into non-existence, and to stay.

It felt like hours before he heard frantic knocking on the door, immediately followed by an entrance.

“Hyungwon? Hyungwon!” Minhyuk yelled, making the entire house shake with vibrations.

Hyungwon stumbled out of the library, sloppily and sleepily. “I’m here.”

Minhyuk was wrapped up in his outerwear, yet seemed to be out of breath, sweat dripping down his face. “I’m so sorry I’m so late. It was so difficult to find the place, and then I had problems finding your family name, and then I had to run to get the photo printed before the store closed-”

Hyungwon walked forward. “You saw it, then?” It was the only thing Hyungwon picked up from the entire ramble.

Minhyuk nodded, taking off his backpack. “I did. It’s real.” He withdrew a photograph and handed it to Hyungwon.

It was such a simple tombstone, truthfully. A standard shape and size, made of a dark marble. It showed clear signs of aging, the dates of death nearly indecipherable. Engraved at the top was:

_HYUNGWON CHAE_

1893 - 1915

_Taken too soon._

It seemed to confirm everything. Even if by some miracle of the universe and chaos theory, that someone existed with the same name as him, in the same cemetery, the name and date reinforced what Hyungwon had known for a very long time. He was dead. Chae Hyungwon had died.

Minhyuk was eerily quiet, not daring to disturb the thoughts running through Hyungwon’s head. He noticed a bouquet of sunflowers at the foot of the grave, and pointed at it. “Where did those come from?” he whispered, his voice surprisingly hoarse.

“I bought them.” He added, softly. “Thought it looked beautiful.”

“It does.”

It was not an uncomfortable silence that fell over them, rather the opposite. It felt companionable, it felt familiar, it felt like Hyungwon could tell Minhyuk everything he ever thought and Minhyuk would listen. Hyungwon wondered if he’d ever be able to find the words to express how much this meant to him – for a poet, he felt entirely speechless.

Minhyuk let his hand rest on top of Hyungwon’s holding the photograph with careful movements. “So it is yours?”

Hyungwon looked up and nodded. “It’s mine.”

Minhyuk ran his other hand through his hair, exhaling. “I knew you were telling the truth, I always believed you - but it never felt so real until that moment, you know? Actually seeing your grave… it was different.” Minhyuk said, and Hyungwon’s heart felt like it was sinking.

And that was it. This was the beginning of the end. This beautiful, delicate bubble of friendship, of companionship, of something so much _more_ that transcended life and death was about to burst. He knew it would happen – yet he still wished it remained for longer. They couldn’t deny the truth that existed between them for much longer – he was dead and the other was alive.

“You should go home, Minhyuk. It’s so late. Your parents will worry,” Hyungwon said gently, removing his hand from Minhyuk’s. “Thank you so much for doing this. I cannot explain how important this is to me. But it is late. Are you warm enough? I think you still have a spare jacket in one of the rooms that I can bring to you.”

“I’m fine, it’s already too late to care about being late but don’t you want to… talk?” Minhyuk said, awkwardly stepping back. 

“It’s okay, Minhyuk. Don’t worry about me. Sleep well.”

He attempted to protest again but gave up on seeing the tiredness in Hyungwon’s eyes, leaving him with the photograph.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Are you sure you’re fine?”

“I am. Go. It’s okay.”

He closed the door so quietly.

Hyungwon placed the photograph on the end table, and sat on the staircase, waiting to disappear.

But it was not instantaneous.

Despite the tiredness that weighed down on Hyungwon, that made him feel as if he was single-handedly carrying his entire house on his thin shoulders, he could not leave this life. Hyungwon sat and stared, his mind filled with thoughts of how the remains of his own body, the definitive proof that he ever even existed, was nothing more than bones underneath flowers. The only words left to him, a poet who wrote more than most novelists in his short lifetime were just ‘taken too soon’. It felt too simple, too easy, to condense his premature demise into a short statement on the grave.

But what else could it say?

What would Hyungwon have wanted it to say?

_He deserved better? Didn’t deserve to die a month after his birthday, barely a man, a social recluse who never found happiness and never would? Taken too soon – shouldn’t have been taken at all?_

_Deserved to live long enough to actually live?_

It seemed far too long until the calming non-sensation of nonexistence took over him.  

 

 The chalk marks on the floor were back, which was never a good sign. If ghosts could have headaches, that is what he would feel now, as he realized the profound impact his nonexistence of the past six days had. One would not think tallies could be written in a way that suggests passive aggression, but truly Minhyuk was filled with surprises.

_Are you okay? I’m worried about you. Come back soon._

Hyungwon was almost tempted to take off today as well, and fully return tomorrow – he was quite spectral today, and probably would not be able to erase the tally marks if he tried.

There was the part of him that knew he had to start severing his connection to Minhyuk – the grave was the turning point for the gradual degradation of their relationship. Or whatever it was they had. Hyungwon didn’t want to think about that.

 But Hyungwon decided against leaving, and stood at the staircase waiting for Minhyuk to walk in. There was no way around the truth: he missed seeing Minhyuk.

He arrived late afternoon, and didn’t even bother to knock. He walked in, dropped his bag, chalking another line without sparing a glance to the surroundings.

“I’m here.”

“Jesus!” Minhyuk exclaimed, jumping back. “Well, hello there ghost, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Hyungwon smiled bashfully. “I’m sorry. I think I tired myself out staying awake for so long – I didn’t know how long I disappeared. I’m sorry you waited so long.” 

“You stayed up till ten and had to disappear for almost a week,” Minhyuk said, with a hint of amusement.

Hyungwon patted Minhyuk on the back, and both seemed perturbed that his hand went right through him.

“Not a good day, I take it,” Minhyuk said.

“No.”

“That felt horrifyingly eerie.”

“I do apologize.”

Minhyuk walked towards the end table and lifted the photograph. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you, but your grave looks fine. Well-kept. I don’t think it has any relation to your condition.”

Hyungwon nodded, eyeing the photograph again.  “I would assume my parents are buried there?”

“I do remember seeing a Marguerite nearby.”

“My mother,” Hyungwon explained. “Thank you for going Minhyuk, I know it must have been strange seeing my actual grave.”

“Not as strange as you disappearing for a week.”

Hyungwon attempted to take the photograph from Minhyuk but passed through it entirely. He grunted, frustrated. “I don’t understand it, truthfully. Some days I feel so human, that if I was hurt I’d bleed. And then days like these, I’m just a shadow, and on even worse days, I can’t even conjure a form, I just exist as my house.” Hyungwon locked glances with Minhyuk.

“You’ve been doing rather well. I come by more and more frequently and you always seem to be here,” Minhyuk said, struggling to suppress a smile. “Let me erase these chalk markings.”

 

They had settled in the library, and Minhyuk had his notebook out along with one of Hyungwon’s poetry books. Hyungwon was content to stare, and Minhyuk did not appear to mind – or even notice. The only sound in the room was the scribbling of Minhyuk’s pen as he rewrote a particular verse that stuck out to him.

Yet, Hyungwon felt like there was something Minhyuk was not telling him. Hyungwon also felt he knew him well enough to realize he could not keep a secret for very long.

“Hyungwon…” Minhyuk began, capping his pen. “Now that I’ve seen your grave, do you think you’ll tell me-”

The sentence was not completed before Hyungwon interrupted him. “Why does it matter so much to you? I’m dead, you know that much.” He was content to have a long drawn out argument over this, it would do good to start breaking the bonds they had formed–

But then Minhyuk had to drop the bombshell.

“Hyungwon, I already know.”

Outside, a bird whistled.

“And how did you find that out?” Hyungwon replied, torn between amusement and anxiety. “I don’t think I wrote any poems predicting my own early demise.”

Minhyuk snapped the book shut, and sat forward, looking positively guilt ridden. “You gave me your full name… and I saw your grave, and I was just so curious because it said so little, I figured I’d just pop by the library just to see if there was anything-”

“And was there?” His voice sounded like the wind. The upstairs bedroom doors slammed shut all at once.

“A little. I mean, your family was rich, you must have thought someone wrote the major points of your history down somewhere and there was a book-”

“What did it say?” The shutters slammed shut now, yet all the windows flung open, and a sharp breeze filled the room. It brushed against the library like a dull knife and Minhyuk gulped.

He was talking far too fast now, as if desperately hoping the quicker he says, the faster Hyungwon will calm down. “It wasn’t long, it wasn’t detailed by any means, it was just in some old property guide about the house previously called ‘Chae Mansion’.” Minhyuk paused, searching for any change in Hyungwon’s expression. “It said that your parents moved out of the house after their son died. That their son suffocated in his sleep and they didn’t hear because the house was so big. They felt like the house was cursed afterwards. That’s why they left.”

Hyungwon had not eaten anything in the past hundred years but all he tasted at that moment was venom.

“That’s not what happened. Not exactly. I wouldn’t expect a property guide to have the gritty details, after all.”

Minhyuk stood up now, and tried to approach the ghost, which was a brave attempt, considering the very atmosphere radiating from Hyungwon was bitterly icy. “When you wouldn’t tell me, I thought it was something horrible, and you didn’t want to scare me or something. It doesn’t sound that bad – I mean it’s awful, but it’s not… it’s not…” the words failed him.

“I didn’t want to tell you, Minhyuk, because it didn’t matter, because it was _my_ thing to tell. I let you read every single one of my journals, I’ve told you everything about life and death that I possibly could, answered every question you had – and you would not let me keep one thing to myself?”

_I didn’t want to tell you because then you’d realize just how pathetic I was in life as I am in death. I didn’t want to tell you because it just made the divide between us greater and greater till it’s less a divide and more a chasm._

Minhyuk was speechless now, and stood transfixed. Hyungwon rose as well, his legs effortlessly phasing through the chair that minutes ago was as physical as he was.

“I was alone, Minhyuk. That’s the core of the matter. I was alone when I died in my dark room with shut windows and drawn curtains and no one heard me, and no one noticed.” Hyungwon’s voice cracked. He was lost in memories now, of a time so far away. “I remember it so vividly. I can barely remember my own name some days but I remember that. I remember I woke up from having a nightmare, sweating, and I couldn’t breathe. And I just struggled there, paralyzed, as I choked on the very air that went through my lungs and I couldn’t stop.” Unconsciously, his hand drifted up, as if reaching in to free his chest.

The guilt had flooded Minhyuk’s face and he looked down, fixed at the floor, unable to move.

The library window was caked in a dusting of frost. “Everything was cold and wet and claustrophobic. The throbbing in my head was unbearable… No one even heard me as I was crying. Perhaps the worst thing of all, is that I can still remember my last thought.”

Hyungwon looked straight at Minhyuk, and his usual soft sleepy gaze had been replaced with one of an icy stranger. “I still remember thinking, in that haze between consciousness, in that haze between life and death, that I thought it was a suitably terrible end to a terrible life. That at least this was as bad as it could _possibly_ get. It literally could _not_ get worse. And then, I had to _wake up_.”

On those last two words, the glass of the library window shattered. The force of the fracture sent glass flying, straight _through_ Hyungwon but he didn’t even notice as it embedded itself in the wall next to his head. Minhyuk did not fare as well, and glass fragments rained down on his skin like a hailstorm, droplets of red staining his pale skin.

“Hyungwon, please calm down,” Minhyuk began, taking a step back, gingerly assessing the broken glass littering the ground.

“Minhyuk, you’ve learnt all you possibly can about me. Now you don’t need to pretend to spend time with me anymore. Now you can take my books, you can take everything you want and leave _my house_.”

The walls groaned, and the entire house seemed to shake. “Now you can _leave me alone_.”

“Hyungwon, I’m not leaving.”

“Then clearly I’m not trying hard enough,” he snarled, and the nearest bookshelf toppled down, a massive crash resounding throughout the library. 

“Why do you keep trying to get rid of me?” Minhyuk whispered, grasping his hands on the wall behind him, paint flaking off. His eyes widened at the sight of Hyungwon in front of him. “Why do you want me to leave so badly?” he asked.

“Because you don’t belong here. Because I don’t want you here. Because it’s _my house_.” 

Another bookcase and the entire floor lurched at he weight. Minhyuk jumped back, nearly tripping over the chair. “Hyungwon, please. If you’re upset at me, I’d prefer if you take it out on me, not on your house.”

“I can do whatever I want, Minhyuk. It’s my house and it’s the one thing I can still control in this half-life half-death I have to live in.” The nails off the wooden floorboard shot up, embedding themselves in the ceiling. 

Minhyuk stepped further back, consciously in the direction of the door. “I don’t think this is just about me.”

“Not everything is about you, Minhyuk. I _did_ have a life before you, you know.” The entire ceiling shuddered, and for a moment, it seemed as if the entire building was going to collapse. Minhyuk’s pupils dilated in fear, but he still did not run away. “It was fucking _horrible_ , and I hated everyday of it, but I had one.”

“I know you had a life before me. It was a beautiful life-”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“It could have been,” Minhyuk insisted. “It could have been so beautiful and I’m sorry it ended so soon. I’m sorry that I found this out without your permission but I just wanted to know how something so cruel happened to someone who didn’t deserve it. I’m sorry that you never got to see the world, and I’m sorry no one got to see your poems…” Minhyuk’s voice which started as a shout wavered but went softer and softer, till it felt like the entire room had paused.  “I’m sorry you didn’t get to live to fall in love and get married and I’m sorry you didn’t live to see life get any better.”

The shaking of the ceiling abruptly stopped. Dust rained down like snowflakes, and Hyungwon was entirely still. The raw sincerity hurt more than anything else could.  

 “I had a whole life ahead of me, Minhyuk. And I died alone, and no one cared. And then I couldn’t even die properly.”

It wasn’t quite falling but it wasn’t quite sitting, yet Hyungwon ended up, slumped on the floor, holding his knees, burying his face in the space between.

Minhyuk’s words haunted his mind. _“You didn’t live to see life get any better.”_

The bitter reality was far too painful, and Hyungwon wished he could shut out the world, Minhyuk, and everything till there was nothing but him, alone, just like he liked it. Just him and his empty house.

“Just leave, Minhyuk.”

The front door swung open, and continued to swing, a mocking gesture. Minhyuk briefly looked at Hyungwon, and walked to the door, before decisively shutting it.

“Why did you do that?” came Hyungwon’s muffled voice.

He looked up and saw Minhyuk shifting the glass fragments with his foot, before joining him on the floor, crossing his legs. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not…”

 _It’s not your fault I’m dead._ The words could not leave Hyungwon’s lips. He looked up at Minhyuk, who was staring at him with an expression of such compassion it hurt to look at.

Minhyuk, so lightly, so gently, as if he was made of glass, held the sides of Hyungwon’s face in his hands, and rested their foreheads together.

Perhaps Minhyuk was right in the careful way he traced Hyungwon’s cheekbones – maybe he was that fragile that he might fracture, bursting into fragments. He certainly felt like that: raw, bruised and so very human.

If Minhyuk seemed surprised at how physical and tangible the interaction was, he didn’t say anything – and neither did Hyungwon. All he did was hold Hyungwon, his breathing the only sensation he could fathom. He closed his eyes, and thought that if he could feel, this would be the only thing he could ever want to touch.

 Hyungwon placed his own hands over Minhyuk’s. Warmth flooded through him. “You’re bleeding.”

It was as if papercuts surrounded his forearms, tiny beads of blood swelling over them. The library glass, of course… Hyungwon hadn’t realized that it could hurt... 

“And you’re dead. I think you’re worse off,” came Minhyuk’s reply. “Can you stand?”

Of course he could. He was never tired or injured – but nevertheless, Hyungwon stood, disappointed to part from the warmth of Minhyuk’s hands. Silently, Minhyuk led him up the stairs toward the very room Hyungwon had prepared for _him_ some weeks ago.

“Where are you going?” Hyungwon asked as Minhyuk opened the door. He didn’t want to say we.

“I think you need to sleep,” Minhyuk said gently. “And I don’t mean leave existence, I think you should sleep.”

“I don’t know if I can,” was the only reply Hyungwon could give.

“I’ll be here to help you try.”

Hyungwon felt perhaps the slightest bit foolish having Minhyuk treat him like he was a fragile child, but he also felt overwhelmingly touched at the realization that he cared. He could not deny the mental and emotional exertion which weighed down on his form.

From the bed, he gazed up at the ceiling, thinking it was a miracle his house was still standing. 

Selfishly, before he could think better, before he could stop himself, Hyungwon grabbed at the fabric of Minhyuk’s sweater. “Are you leaving?”

“I won’t,” he said.

“I know you have to go home but please, I don’t want to be alone again…”

It sounded pathetic, even to Hyungwon’s ears, but the pure need to have Minhyuk close, to have something to himself, even temporarily overcame him.

“I won’t leave,” Minhyuk promised, and lay next to Hyungwon, carefully distancing himself with the exception of holding his hand. It was far too tender, far too real.

It couldn’t be real?

“I didn’t think you’d actually stay,” Hyungwon spoke, interlocking his fingers tighter.

Minhyuk smiled, and the look of fondness made Hyungwon want to tear out his own dead heart.

“You should want to leave. I should want you to leave. Why can’t I just want you to leave?” Hyungwon whispered.

“Why do you want me to leave so badly?” Minhyuk asked.

“You make me wish I wasn’t dead anymore.”

 

And he didn’t leave. Neither of them did.

At some point in the night, Hyungwon woke with eyes wide open in the exact same spot he was when he closed them. He vaguely remembered whispering something before falling asleep – he would have thought he dreamt everything but-

Minhyuk was next to him now, his mouth slightly ajar in sleep, drool pooling out of his mouth, clutching Hyungwon’s outstretched hand like a lifesaver.

He was acutely aware of the goosebumps on his flesh, and realized Minhyuk must be freezing from all the broken windows. And Hyungwon was tempted to enter a more spiritual form and repair the house, but then Minhyuk seemed to mutter something in his sleep, and smiled, before holding his hand tighter.

Hyungwon thought if he could, he would trade all of infinity for this.

If only it was an option.

 

“You didn’t disappear,” is the first thing that emerged out of Minhyuk’s mouth the next morning.

The first rays of sunlight pierced through the former location of the window, and Hyungwon thought it matched the colour of Minhyuk’s hair rather fittingly.

“I didn’t,” he said and he sounded as surprised as Minhyuk did.

As Minhyuk stretched himself out on the bed, making a delightful squeaking sound, he brushed his arm against the sheets and winced.

“Is your arm…?”

“It’s nothing major. I’ve had much worse injuries by my own hand, I’ll tell you,” Minhyuk said, with perhaps too much forceful cheer than necessary. “There was this one incident involving a bottle of soda, my forehead, and a passing car with a bumper sticker that I apparently _had_ to read at that exact moment.”

In all of their jokes and chatter and talks about life and death, perhaps it never occurred to Minhyuk until that moment how powerful Hyungwon was, and how easy it was for him to hurt anyone.

Any moment now, Hyungwon was sure that Minhyuk will detach his hand and he would leave the bed they were sharing, and Minhyuk would go back to his life and Hyungwon will phase out of his.

But it didn’t.

“Hyungwon?” Minhyuk’s grip on his hand tightened. “What was your nightmare about?”

“What nightmare?” he said, even though he knew..

“The one you had right before you died. You said you woke up from a nightmare. What happened in it?”

Hyungwon would normally have personally kicked Minhyuk out of his house for the mere question. But he felt vulnerable, stripped of a shell, and Minhyuk looked so unassuming and soft in the morning light.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I think you want to tell me.”

He was right. The answer fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. “I was drowning.” Hyungwon tore his gaze away from Minhyuk’s. “Someone was holding me underwater and drowning me, and I couldn’t even scream.”

“Drowning,” Minhyuk repeated gently.

“It wasn’t an ocean. It was more like a lake. Or a pond.”

 “Don’t worry, I can’t swim either.” Minhyuk said with a smile.

“I’m sorry I acted the way I did. I was going to tell you eventually, but something about it…” Hyungwon trailed off. “I never meant to hurt you, I swear.”

Minhyuk's thumb was tracing the outside of Hyungwon's hand now, absent-mindedly. “I never meant to hurt you either, yet I failed in that as well. So, I think we can call it even.” Minhyuk rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Do you ever watch the sunrise?”

“Never,” Hyungwon replied. “I’m not usually around that time of day, and even if I was, I don’t really look out the windows.”

“It’s really beautiful,” Minhyuk said. “What about when you were alive?”

He was daring now. Before he’d dress it up in words like _before_ and _back then_. Now, he was blunt.

Hyungwon appreciated that. “I would never willingly get up before dawn, Minhyuk.”

Minhyuk laughed, and finally disconnected his hand from Hyungwon’s. “I need to get some breakfast. I don’t think you have any food in your house?”

Hyungwon shook his head.

“I won’t be gone long, I’ll just pick up some things from the store and I’ll be right back, I promise.”

And there wasn’t much he could say to make him stay, even if he wanted to.

 

He checked his appearance in the entrance hall mirror conspicuously, running his hands through his bed hair, and smoothing out his clothes. When he noticed Hyungwon watching, he turned a shade of pink.

“I’ll see you soon.”

Hyungwon could determine the exact moment that Minhyuk left the front gate – his presence in the house was like a spark in his mind. After he left the boundary, he vanished entirely.

Not for the first time, Hyungwon wished that the ghost at Chae Mansion could be someone else, someone different, so that _he_ could leave.

He recalled the first time he attempted to, on one of those ‘human’ days of his, where he took slow steps towards the gate and attempted to pry it open, but his hands shook on the metal and for the first time since he died, he felt _cold_.

The metal sent such a wave of ice through his body that he instantly recoiled. He attempted to open it again, and still the lock was more ice than metal. He attempted several times afterwards, but it appeared Hyungwon would never leave his home.

It wasn’t like he left the house particularly when he was alive either so he could not pretend to be too sad without being a hypocrite. What little memories he possessed of the outside told him that it was obscenely bright and far too loud. Hyungwon liked the noises his house made, the crooning whispers of the stairs and the silenced screams that the windows made whenever he opened them. He didn’t like the noises outside – so he never went outside.

But that was then.

That was before he wished he could go outside.

 

Minhyuk returned some hours later, with noticeable bandages around his arm, and neither of them pointed it out to each other.

There was a cool distance between them and it seemed such a vast difference from the warmth of this morning. And Hyungwon wondered why, and he would not be as forward to ask. Hyungwon would never ask, because he was afraid that if he ever asked, Minhyuk would start thinking a bit smarter and the next time Hyungwon told him to leave, he actually would.

It did strike Hyungwon as odd that he didn’t go home yet – but he didn’t want to question it.

Hyungwon had grown extremely anxious as he could feel impending doom approaching.

 It was almost fitting that when the storm finally came, it was in the exact same library as when the previous argument occurred. Minhyuk had spent most of the morning sweeping up broken glass while Hyungwon attempted (with little success) to restore the windows.

“Hyungwon?” Minhyuk began, not meeting his eyes. “I have something I need to tell you.”

Hyungwon nodded, gesturing for him to continue.

“Could you, er, sit down? I feel a bit strange having you standing there while I’m talking.”

The ghost complied and took the chair across from him, and stared ahead. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m moving. To university.”

Oh yes, university. Hyungwon knew about that – not that he ever went to one. He was supposed to, in the spring, but it was in the winter that he died.

Now Minhyuk was talking far too fast. “It’s a few hours away so I won’t be able to visit often. Or at all. But I’ll still come home for all holidays. And then I’ll be able to see you.” He breathed deeply. “And you can just… do that thing where you’re not alive right? So you don’t have to wait for me?”

“I’m always not alive,” Hyungwon replied acidly.

Minhyuk flinched. “Poor choice of words. But you know what I mean? You know when you just sort of… disappear. Like that.”

“So you won’t be here anymore?” Hyungwon said.

“I won’t.”

The room grew colder, and Minhyuk visibly straightened, as if bracing himself. Hyungwon audibly sighed, trying to control the atmosphere around him.

“But how will I know when you’ll come back?” Hyungwon said, and instantly berated himself for how _needy_ the words sounded.

“You don’t have a telephone. Or any phone. So I can’t really talk to you. But I’ll be back for Christmas.” He paused. “Late December.”

“I know when Christmas is.”

Minhyuk flushed. “I’ll be back then. That’s only four months. I brought you something for that-”

He reached into his backpack and withdrew a digital clock, the time and date flashing. “It’s battery operated, so you don’t need to worry about it. I’ll put it in the entrance hall, so whenever you’re walking around you can see it.”

Hyungwon said nothing.

“So, er- here it is.” He held it out, automatically as if Hyungwon could take it from him, and the realization hit Minhyuk immediately and he pulled the clock back towards him. “Sorry. I-”

He broke off, and occupied himself with moving the clock to the entrance hell, Hyungwon slowly following him. The modernity of the clock didn’t suit the dilapidated walls and floors surrounding it – and it made the whole room look fake.

“Four months. I don’t know exactly what day I’ll be back, but I’ll be here soon. I…” the words fell. “I wish I didn’t have to go.”

Hyungwon would regret saying the next sentence, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Then don’t.”

He was intensely fixated by the motion of the other’s adam’s apple as he seemed to swallow entire essays of words in the space between speaking.

“I have to, Hyungwon. You know that.” He ran a hand through his blond hair, and it seemed like entire strands fell to the floor without him noticing. “I won’t lie and say I haven’t considered just saying ‘fuck it’ to the whole thing. I never really wanted to study further and being here makes me happier than anything else. Anything ever, really.”

He gulped again, and the movement seemed to cause his whole body to shiver. As if each word was difficult to force out. When he started to speak again, he spoke louder, as if the words might get lost in the mist if they were even the slightest bit softer. “I would stay here if I could. Forever, probably. I love it here, I love the old books, the peeling wallpaper, and the creaky floors and I love-” he flashed a gaze of less than a second at Hyungwon, and then stared back at the floor, “-everything.”  He finished. “But I can’t, can I?”

It seemed like he wanted an answer and when none came, he continued. “I can’t. I’ve already spent so many years wasting time, and my parents are sick of it, my friends are sick of it...”

Minhyuk’s hands clenched into a fist. “I need to eat and that means I need money and I can’t have money if I don’t have a job and I don’t want to be miserable anymore, because before I met you it was just _always_ miserable. I need to go study-” he broke off. “That doesn’t matter, Hyungwon. Right now, I would love to continue as we were. But I need to think about the future, and the future just…”

Minhyuk looked miserably around, as if the entrance hall furniture could find a way to complete his sentence. But Hyungwon was quite aware of what he was trying to say.

“I know we have no future, Minhyuk. I know I’m dead. I remind you every day.” His voice was so soft yet the room was so quiet, the entire room filled with the sound.

“But you don’t act dead, that’s the problem! You don’t seem dead! You don’t _feel_ dead.”

Frost coated the windows.

“If I knew how or why you managed to end up like this, I’d repeat it in a heartbeat – but I don’t. So I have to live. That’s all I can do. I went through every other idea, and there isn’t some other option.” Minhyuk looked up. “But you’ll still be here right?”

And Hyungwon almost wanted to laugh.

Of course, he’ll be here. Despite everything, it still seemed like Minhyuk didn’t understand the fundamental truth at the heart of Hyungwon’s nonexistence. He _couldn’t_ leave even if he wanted to.

And he really wanted to.

He wanted to disappear out of existence, not for a day or a week, but forever. He wished he was in his grave, under layers of dirt, his bones degrading into dust, the dust degrading into the wind. He wanted to never have to live a day with this empty feeling inside which didn’t make sense because he _was_ always empty. The presence or absence of _him_ shouldn’t change anything.  

“I’ll be here,” Hyungwon said.

“Then it’s okay. It’s okay. I’ll be back.” It sounded like Minhyuk was reassuring himself. “As soon as I can. For longer. I’ll have so many things to tell you. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Hyungwon sincerely doubted that. “When are you leaving?”

Guilt was written in his face. “Tonight.”

“Tonight?” Hyungwon echoed.

 “I kept putting off telling you. I was supposed to leave last night but I couldn’t bear it. I had to change my bus ticket to tonight.” He pursed his lips. “I came to say goodbye.”

The concept of it all was so unfamiliar to him. Unfinished sentences died on his lips before they were even given a chance to breathe. It was too soon, Hyungwon still had things he wanted to do, things he wanted to say.

On some level, he knew that he should be happy Minhyuk was moving forward with his life. After all, it was the natural progression of existence.

But all he really felt was wondering about how quiet his house would be when he left.

Hyungwon could feel his house desiring to moan and groan and let loose – but he refrained it, locking up the emotions which surrounded him. 

“Forgot my jacket,” Minhyuk whispered, walking away far too quickly back to the library.

Hyungwon brushed his fingertips over the alarm clock – the touch far too physical than what he remembered of when he was alive. Not quite real though – never real.

 Perhaps he was too judgemental about the alarm clock initially. It was at least nice to have something new in the house, something to make sure the last few months really weren’t just a dream concocted by a bored ghost.

Four months wasn’t too bad. Was it? He made it more than ten decades. That was certainly impressive. Mathematically, he’d be fine.

Yet…

Back then, he used to disappear for _years_ at a time. He’d notice, because he’d see the way the walls peel, the way the roof buckled in, the way snow dusted on the gate – changes that would take seasons took him two visits. He was little more than wind passing through the manor.

Ever since he first noticed the end of Summer, and ever since Minhyuk first came into his house, he’s been waking up more and more frequently. First weekly - now almost daily.

Coincidentally, he was far more likely to wake up physical. To be able to walk around, and hold and speak.

(It couldn’t have been a coincidence, and Hyungwon knew this).

But this was not Minhyuk’s concern, and there was no point telling him either. Minhyuk was right – he had a future to think of, and a life to get to. He didn’t need to worry about upsetting his ghost friend.

Minhyuk returned to the entrance hall, awkwardly adjusting his jacket. “I’m going to be back. It won’t be long for you. For me, it’ll feel like ages.” He laughed, but it was as hollow and fake as Hyungwon was, and it just echoed in the house.

When no response from Hyungwon came, Minhyuk cleared his throat. “I don’t want to say goodbye, but I need to. I need to pick up my suitcases, and go to the bus station, and call my friends to explain why I’m a day late and-”

The words made it worse. He didn’t want to know in exact details exactly how Minhyuk was moving on. “Goodbye, Minhyuk. I’ll miss you.” Hyungwon said, far more firmly than he felt.

Minhyuk nodded, obviously shocked, but relieved his rambling got cut off. “I’ll be back soon.” He stepped forward, and very carefully looked up at Hyungwon. Hyungwon looked back, suddenly grateful he didn’t have a heart that could race.

Taking a deep breath, Minhyuk attempted to wrap his arms around his tall form, embracing him. The sudden invasion of space was strange, and Minhyuk’s fingers were pressing into his ethereal form. He could not _feel_ him exactly, not the finer nuances of touch, but his entire body was warm and when it was wrapped around Hyungwon, it felt more soothing and pleasurable than anything he could ever remember.

“You feel so cold,” Minhyuk whispered.

But to Hyungwon, he felt as if was caressing the sun. He found himself wishing he’d have taken advantage of all those days where he could walk in a flesh body, he could have done so much, felt that warmth so much more…

“Can you feel anything?”

“Yes,” Hyungwon answered without elaborating.

Minhyuk stepped back, and Hyungwon’s hand instantly reached out, craving the loss of warmth. Minhyuk’s smile grew at the sight even though Hyungwon immediately dropped it.

Grasping his hand, Minhyuk pulled him closer. “You feel so…real.” He looked up. “Can you feel this?”

Something like affection collapsed into his heart and all he could think was that he wished he never had to have another moment after this, because everything after it would never be as good. Minhyuk had leaned in, so slowly and so carefully, Hyungwon felt like it was an eternity before their lips connected.

The entire mansion could have fallen around them and Hyungwon would not have noticed. All he could think and feel was how softly Minhyuk was kissing him, with such gentle passion it felt as if he was being set alight.

He let his fingers rest in the back of his hair, as the kiss deepened and Minhyuk rested his hands on Hyungwon’s face. And for the first time, Hyungwon could swear he could _feel_. He could feel the fluffy hairs tangling in his fingers, he could feel the way Minhyuk’s hands clenched his jaw as if afraid he would disappear into smoke, he could feel the way Minhyuk was melting into the kiss and all Hyungwon wanted to do was savour the sensation of the warm mouth on his. The way Minhyuk breathed into him was unlike anything Hyungwon could fathom, and his entire body lit up with the sensation of being _warm_ for the first time since he died.

Minhyuk broke away, panting, his hands unmoving from the sides of Hyungwon’s face.

“I forgot you need to breathe,” Hyungwon said, and the comical expression of shock that Hyungwon so adored was on Minhyuk’s face made him laugh.

“So did I,” Minhyuk replied, his eyes dark, claiming his mouth again, and the brief minute between those kisses felt like years and Hyungwon didn’t think he’d survive a wait longer than that.

There was such desperation in the way Minhyuk pulled himself into Hyungwon’s mouth, and Hyungwon wrapped himself closer in the fresh heat that was Minhyuk. He was _everything_.

When Minhyuk finally detached himself from Hyungwon, all Hyungwon could do was stare at him while he attempted to regain his breath. His cheeks were flushed, his lips were elegantly raw and the hair on his neck was delicately out of place, and it gave Hyungwon a sense of accomplishment knowing he was the reason for it.

“I…” The words failed Minhyuk as he wiped his mouth, his breath coming out as pants. “Oh…”

He still had one hand on Hyungwon's cheek, moving it along the angle of his jaw.

The first rays of twilight illuminated the room, and like it always did, it meant Minhyuk had to leave.

 “I’ll think of you every day. I’ll be here as soon as I can.”

“Don’t forget me.”

The words tumbled out before Hyungwon could stop them, and Minhyuk’s eyes seemed to glisten.

“I won’t. I never could. I-I really need to go, Hyungwon. I can’t… I’ll see you soon.”

And with one final brush of Minhyuk’s hand against his lips, he opened the door and left. It seemed far too quickly. A minute ago, his entire presence was overwhelming Hyungwon, and now he was _gone_.

Hyungwon could sense Minhyuk up until the moment he exited the gate – and then, nothing. It was like a switch flipped off in his mind and there was nothing but emptiness left.

Hyungwon took note of the time and date, and in hindsight he’d never imagine ever hating a time of day, but right then, 5:14pm was a strong contender.

He raised his hands to his face, as if still expecting to find Minhyuk – but of course, he didn’t. Everything was far too quiet.

All he had to do was disappear out of existence, like he had so many thousand times before. But he _couldn’t_.

Every time he tried to distance his thoughts, every time he tried to disappear, every time he wanted to disintegrate into air, his mind brought images of Minhyuk and his warmth and his mouth and his smile and he just felt his footsteps getting heavier and his mind getting more and more tired.

That night, he didn’t phase out of existence. He slept. And he woke up, with a heart that hurt. And he still couldn’t disappear.

And the clock said 5:14pm again, and he was still there.

And the clock said 5:14pm again, and he was still there.

And the clock said 5:14pm again, and he was still there.

He was always there.

 

And when the clock said 5:14pm on December 25th he was still there, as well. But Minhyuk was not. And he wasn’t there on December 26th or 27th either.

And Hyungwon wondered if Minhyuk had broken his only promise. And Hyungwon wondered if he did, why he still couldn’t leave.

 

The first half of January passed by in several blizzards. Hyungwon felt the force of the snow on his house, battering against decaying windows, and it felt like physical agony. Like a rotten tooth, Hyungwon wished he could just rip into himself and pry entire parts of himself off. He could feel the snow on the rooftops and it settled over him like a blanket – it provided no warmth, however. Just suffocation.

Hyungwon was still very much alive and present. He was getting better now, going back to what he used to be – he could disappear for at least a few hours. Yet, he still woke up daily, and always saw the date changing, and the still empty house. Hyungwon was fed up, however.

Minhyuk had no right to come along with his dumb blond hair and his dumb smile and steal his poetry and his time and his secrets and then just _leave_. 

And Hyungwon didn’t blame him, he supposed. He felt… _hurt_ , he supposed was the word. Cold, might be more literal. Ever since blood stopped flowing through his veins, he was always cold but this was _different_. It felt like a complete absence of heat, an absence of light – an absence of _everything_.

All he wanted to do was disappear out of life, and come back some decades later, when the world was an even stranger place and that silly boy who always came in the morning with his stupid blond hair was as dead as he was-

The second the thought entered his mind he wished he could spit it out. The idea of Minhyuk as lifeless as Hyungwon was a horrifying one. Though, it could almost be enjoyable, picturing a pale but undeniably lifelike (and ghostlike) Minhyuk, jumping up and down, having the entire house shake with his movements, asking a thousand silly questions – the cause for it was too distressing to consider. 

But that would not happen, for the sole fact that when Minhyuk would eventually die, he would _die._ He would not come back as a ghost or a spirit, he’d enter the ground and stay there.

And that thought was chilling.

Still, this whole situation was Hyungwon’s own fault. He was the one who decided to talk to him, he was the one who answered the messages in chalk, and he was the one who kept wishing he’d come back.

Hyungwon knew all he had to do was wait it out, wait till the effects of Minhyuk left his memories, wait till he could drift back into being nothing but wind, and just be the weird noise that comes out of that weird house on the hill.

But it was taking long. It was taking far too long. Minhyuk had clawed his way into the recesses of Hyungwon’s being and he couldn’t seem to get him out.

He wished he never met Minhyuk.

Rather, he _wished_ that he wished he never met Minhyuk. He wished that he hated him, and could fan that anger into hatred till it turns into contempt.

But Hyungwon didn’t hate Minhyuk. The things he felt for Minhyuk were far too confusing, far too painful to describe – but it wasn’t hatred. It was more like longing. Waiting for him to come back – and accepting that he won’t.

 

And then he did.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> M rating applies to this chapter~

It was raining the day Hyungwon died, but it was snowing the day he came back.

Rising up from his bedroom on phantom limbs, trying to speak, yet only scratchy sounds escaped him - and the overwhelming sensations of the house inside of him. He couldn’t tear it out, he couldn’t block it out, his mind was _filled_ with everything about the house, the snow trickling on the roof, the water collecting on the front door, the door peeling, he could feel _everything_.

When the woman walked in, it was like a physical pain, as the entire house adjusted itself to this new presence. He could sense in his mind every single move she made, each hesitant step into each room, each door closing and he wanted to scream and block it out, but he didn’t have the words, he didn’t have the physical form to even do that. He was just an echo, little more than the wind.

 

Hyungwon recalled this now as he felt the boy outside entered. He could sense the change in his house with the force as if someone had snapped his neck.

Hesitant footsteps shuffled towards the front door, displacing the snow, and then paused. Hyungwon could _hear_ the sharp intake of breath.  The handle turned. He couldn’t help but notice the varnish was starting to wear away again.

He knew who was coming, because there was only one person who would _ever_ come to his decrepit house, but Hyungwon found himself wishing he could fade out of existence, right there and then, and never have to see the door open, and never have to have his heart break again.

His blond hair was fading, brown roots streaking down like waves. He was thinner as well, and had his eyes fixed to the ground when he walked in. He exhaled deeply, and paused to look in the mirror, rearranging his fringe, stroking his hair.

And then, he turned, and looked straight at Hyungwon.

The initial shock was replaced by recognition – and then something else. Something different. His eyes were fixed on him, but there was fear behind it. Unblinking. As if-

As if he had seen a ghost.

“You’re here?” Minhyuk choked out.

The inflection was far higher than normal and Minhyuk realized it. He cleared his throat. “I mean. You’re here?”

“I live here,” Hyungwon said, and his voice sounded like nails scratching against glass.

Minhyuk shuddered at the literal iciness of the reply. The room grew colder and colder. The ceiling creaked. Minhyuk brushed off imaginary dust from his shoulder. “Of course. Of course I know that.” He breathed deeply. “I just meant that I was surprised to see you here. Physically.”

Hyungwon had an urge so vivid and physical it almost felt like he was real. He wanted to grab Minhyuk by the neck and bring him up to eye level and _make_ him tell him exactly where he was. Have him explain in explicit detail exactly why he felt the need to lie to him, to give him false hope that he’d even want to come back.

Hyungwon was wrong. All those times when he thought he wasn’t possible of feeling anymore since he died? He was so mistaken. The truth was that he _could_ feel and all he felt at this moment was white hot anger.

“I’m always here, Minhyuk. I physically cannot leave. But you know that.” And he walked forward, and the ceiling creaked again, and the walls cracked, and he was now facing Minhyuk and said, “The real question is where were you?”

Minhyuk looked so vulnerable in that moment, as if another word could reduce him to rubble.

It was unsettling but also-

Pleasing.

Guilt was something Hyungwon could work, something he understood. If guilt was a banner, Hyungwon would dedicate his life and death to it, would sing songs to the goddess of guilt, he would work guilt till the grindstone, till Minhyuk _understood_ what it felt like to waste months just waiting.

“At university,” was the safe response that finally came and even Minhyuk looked disappointed at his reply. His fingers drifted to his lips as if he wanted to silence himself.

“You’ve been gone a while.”

Minhyuk was taking far too long to reply. Hyungwon could see the gears turning in Minhyuk’s mind as he best determined how to answer.

“I didn’t think you’d notice.”

Hyungwon noticed that Minhyuk had a new bracelet on his arm. It was silver. It looked nice. He wondered who bought it for him.

“I think we both know that’s not true.” Hyungwon crossed his arms. “I’ve been waiting every day for the past few months. Five, to be exact. In case you lost track of time.”

Minhyuk's eyes widened. “You can’t have been here every day, could you? You can disappear.”

“I used to,” Hyungwon said bluntly, and the comment struck Minhyuk with a force that seemed to cause him physical pain.

“Did you really wait every day for me?”

 “Yes,” Hyungwon said, almost immediately, and instantly regretted it. The vindication of Minhyuk’s guilt was intoxicating, but the cost of Hyungwon’s own pride was not worth it. He wanted to take the words back, lock them up at the back of his mind and leave them to rot instead of acknowledging them as the truth.

Minhyuk walked forward, rather bravely, considering he looked as if he might shatter at another harsh word. “Hyungwon, I can’t try and apologize-”

 “Why didn’t you come back?”

And Minhyuk stared at Hyungwon, with eyes empty of answers. “I don’t… I was busy…there was something I had to do...”

“I always told you to leave,” Hyungwon conceded, raising a hand to rub his eyes, if just to block the image of Minhyuk for a moment. “So it’s fine if you wanted to. But if you did, why lie to me and tell me you will come back? Why come back now? Why at all? Why not leave me to rot in my house, until I’m like the cobwebs in the corners?”

“I…I was always going to come back, Hyungwon, that part was always true, I’m a bit late but-” Minhyuk’s excuses faltered. “Hyungwon, I just have a lot to tell you, and I’m not sure where to begin. I needed some time to figure everything out and sort everything out...”

Hyungwon didn’t even bother acknowledging his vague excuses. “Is it because you’ve moved on?”

The sentence hung in the air for far too long. Minhyuk chose his words far too carefully, far too unlike the Minhyuk who would ramble endlessly. “No. It’s not because of that.”

“But you have?” Hyungwon’s attempt at keeping his tone neutral proved ultimately futile as the mirror was caked with frost.

“No, you don’t just move on from something like that-” Minhyuk cut himself off. “Hyungwon, I need you to forget about me for a minute.”

And any hope Hyungwon had of calming down flew out the window. The frosted mirror cracked, and Minhyuk steadied himself on the wall. “I’m sorry? Did you come all this way just to tell me to forget about you? Because I’ve been trying!”

And Minhyuk looked so positively broken in that second that Hyungwon felt like he remembered what it was like to die again.

“No, never- I just…”  his voice was so small and so soft. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here-”

 He looked down at his hands – he had something golden in his grip – and steadied himself. “Hyungwon, please, I need to tell you something important. Just give me that time. After that – you can talk about us. You can talk about me. Or you don’t have to. You can just leave, or…” Minhyuk’s words seemed to struggle to leave his mouth. “I’ll leave and you can shut the door behind me and never speak to me again and I’ll understand but let me talk first, because this isn’t about me – this is about you.”

Hyungwon looked away. “Minhyuk, I don’t think I want to talk to you.”

He decided right there and then he’d be satisfied with never seeing Minhyuk’s face ever again, his stupid, angelic face. If he’s lucky, he’ll forget it as quickly as he forgot the faces of his own parents. But he wasn’t lucky, and Hyungwon had the feeling he would be imaging a phantom face with blond hair for the next hundred years.

Minhyuk’s words were rushed. “No, don’t fade, don’t leave, you need to hear this, this isn’t about me.”

Minhyuk grabbed Hyungwon’s hand and looked up, almost fearfully. “Why do you feel so real?”

Hyungwon attempted to wrench his hand from Minhyuk, but his grip was too strong – and after so long without the warmth, Hyungwon could not stop himself from sinking into it.

“Hyungwon, please.” Minhyuk’s grip tightened.

“Let me go,” Hyungwon said.

“This is important. I need to talk to you.” he said with more urgency than he’d ever used before, his eyes wide and his jaw set.

“Then, talk to me, Minhyuk.” Hyungwon said with a harsh sigh. “You never leave when I ask you to, so why would this time be any different?”

Minhyuk dropped his hand, and stepped back as if he had been burnt.

“You just come back here like you never left, you just settle right back into your pattern of talking to me, and you never thought to ask if I wanted that?” Hyungwon asked, thinking that if he couldn’t feel happiness anymore maybe Minhyuk shouldn’t either. That Minhyuk doesn’t deserve to be protected from the harsh truths of exactly what he did to Hyungwon, of exactly how much he affected the lost ghost. “Did you ever think that maybe I don’t want to talk to you? That I don’t want to be reminded of exactly how much I care about you, and how empty you left this house, and me?”

A crash from the second floor echoed down, and neither even looked up.

“I think the worst thing is that you made me feel like I was half.”

And just like that, the house quietened.

Hyungwon swallowed. “Half a human, close enough to believe that there was something, that we could have had a life together or something-” and he paused. “And then when it wasn’t that, you made me feel like I was half a ghost. That I could walk through walls and fix mirrors and disappear whenever I wanted to, and that was all that I could do. I’m dead, Minhyuk, I’ve been dead for so many years, and nothing will ever change that.”

Then he looked straight at Minhyuk. “Why do you keep trying to change that?”

Tears welled up in Minhyuk’s eyes. “I just don’t want it to be like that.”

“But it is like that.”

If life and death were two sides of a valley, and Minhyuk was on a bridge, Hyungwon felt like he was severing it from his own side.

“I ruined your life, didn’t I?” Minhyuk’s voice was like glass.

And Hyungwon felt his own willpower crumble, because no, no, that’s not it at all. “No, you didn’t. It was ruined long before you even existed. You just reminded me that it could have been better, it could have been beautiful. But it’s not.”

He looked down at his hand, so translucent and pale, like it was just the shadow of an image he’d never see. “Ever since you came here, you just made my life so much more confusing. All this time I just wanted to be dead, properly dead, I just wanted to be rotting away and forgotten. But you kept making me wish that I was still _alive_ , you make me wish that there was some way I could come back but I can’t.”

“I wish you were alive too, Hyungwon,” Minhyuk said, and it was so soft, so gentle, it was like the first raindrop of a dark cloud.

And then the torrent came. “If I could die, I would, believe me. If I could figure out some way to make sure I come back, I would, without a second thought. But I wouldn’t be here with you, would I? You’re the anomaly. Everyone else just… _dies_.”

A distant, inhuman screech, almost ultrasonic, from the attic brought Hyungwon back to reality.

“Hyungwon, I need to talk to you. I need you to listen to me. I need you to believe me.”

“You are demanding quite a lot.” Hyungwon's eyes narrowed.

“Please. This is about you. It’s about this.” Minhyuk extended his hand, and for a brief moment, Hyungwon actually thought he was reaching out towards him.

And then Minhyuk dropped the chain, and his father’s garish golden pocket watch dangled down.

“I thought you sold that,” Hyungwon flinched. “Why do you still have that disgusting thing?”

It looked as offensively gaudy as the day Minhyuk had first shown it to Hyungwon, and the uneasiness inside him at its reappearance was unwelcome.

“I couldn’t bring myself to sell it,” Minhyuk admitted. “It felt disrespectful.”

“I really don’t want it, and if you came all this way to give me a pocket watch I wanted to throw away, I feel like we’re on very different pages.”

Minhyuk tapped his foot impatiently. “It’s not about just the watch. It’s all connected. When I went to university, I took some of your notebooks with me.”

He didn’t even notice. Hyungwon raised an eyebrow. “And when exactly did you commit that act of petty theft?”

“When I was fetching my jacket when you weren’t looking,” Minhyuk said in a rush. “It doesn’t matter.  I just grabbed a bunch of them because I knew I’d want to read them while I was there, when I missed you. But I didn’t just take yours. I took one of your dad’s.”

“My father kept notebooks?”

“He did.”

Hyungwon frowned. He didn’t… know that. “What was in them?”

Pursing his lips, Minhyuk folded the pocket watch in. “Well, it was curious. For one thing, most of the book was written in code. Just initials. Vague references to parties and dinners. It was a logbook of some kind, but it clearly wasn’t meant to be opened by other people. I managed to get a rough idea, though. Your dad invited a lot of people around, didn’t he?”

“I told you, I don’t really remember it.” Hyungwon did often have dinner alone in his room, because other guests were having dinner, but it was hardly anything worth thinking deeply.

“Can you try to?”

Hyungwon briefly entertained the idea of slamming the closet door behind him and watching that ridiculous shocked expression he had whenever something moved, but refrained himself. “Yes. Fine. He invited lots of people to dinner. Into his study, as well.”

“Did they smoke a lot?”

And Hyungwon was about to make a comment about how absurd it was to expect him to know such a specific details, a century later when-

Yes. Yes they did. Hyungwon could distinctly remember knocking at the study door, his father opening it, removing his pipe and blowing the smoke into his face. The coughing. The smell that lingered on every piece of furniture in his house, that lingered on his clothes and on him.

“Yes. So much,” Hyungwon said. “How did you know that?” 

Minhyuk shifted uncomfortably. “Hyungwon, I’m not sure how to tell you this, but I think your father was illegally involved in the opium trade.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

That couldn’t be true, of course. His father wouldn’t be involved with something like that, because that was illegal, and his father wouldn’t do anything illegal, which was why he had so many dinner parties, and worked late into the night, and always received mysterious packages at the docks-

“The smoke.”

“Even the books reek after all these years,” Minhyuk said, looking at his fingers.

Ever since Minhyuk brought up Hyungwon's wealth, there was a part of him that wondered exactly where it all came from, but it was a surface thought, a drop in the pool of consciousness. It wasn’t actually meant to be thought about. It wasn’t meant to be _addressed_.

“There’s so many meetings with very similar people who later were convicted of opium smuggling. The logs in the book are all involving sums of money, and there’s so much coding for it to be coincidental meetings.”

If Minhyuk was really under the impression a history lesson on the Family Chae was enough of an explanation, he was horribly mistaken. “Okay, so my father was most likely involved in selling opium. I don’t see what I can do about that. I mean, do you want to look around in my house and see if he has any left to have a good time? I don’t see the purpose of this information otherwise.”

Minhyuk said the next words far too quickly. “He got caught.”

“By who?”

“The authorities,” Minhyuk answered. “He was arrested. And executed.”

Hyungwon forgot how to breathe, and then he remembered he didn’t need to anymore.

“He was involved in some heavy treason as well,” Minhyuk added quietly. “I checked the people he mentioned in his notebooks as well. His conspirators all met a similar fate, it looks like they were all involved in the same plot. It looks like they all planned to sell spiked drugs across the street, disrupt the reigning powers, and come in to clear the mess.”

While Hyungwon rarely thought of his parents, when he did, he always thought they just peacefully stopped existing. He never thought much about their lives once he died. The knowledge that his father was executed for treason was a difficult matter to process. The senior Chae was by no means a foolish man, why did he let it get so far? Why was he disloyal to his own country, why was he selling poisonous drugs that could have killed people…

“You’re mentioned in the notebook,” Minhyuk said.

The part of Hyungwon that never died, the part of an outcast son desperate for validation from his father lit up. “Really?”

“Just once. Not favourably.”

Minhyuk shrugged his backpack off – a new one, sleeker than the bulky beige one he carted around before. The leather bound notebook he held in his hands was entirely unfamiliar to Hyungwon. The book was filled with highlighters and sticky notes, and Minhyuk flipped to a dog-eared page, and held it out.

_Meeting with Q.R and Li M. Good discussion. Fruitful._

_Dinner with family tonight – entire. MG complained I worked too much. HW was in attendance, boring and lifeless as always. Didn’t eat dessert- for that I’m happy. MG asked if he was feeling alright. Told her he was just odd that way._

Hyungwon knew fundamentally that his parents were not particularly fond of him. He also knew that he wasn’t exactly the most prized son.

With this information in mind, it was still an entirely different matter to get flat out branded as boring and lifeless by his own father in his private journals, however, and to express pleasure that Hyungwon didn’t ruin his evening any further by daring to stay for dessert.

“Minhyuk, did you come back all the way from university just to make me feel miserable? Because you could have done that without wasting the bus fare.”

If hurting Minhyuk was some sort of sport, Hyungwon was certain he was fast becoming the expert, judging by the way Minhyuk seemed to temporarily crumple into himself, his eyes downcast. “It’s not about that at all.”

Minhyuk closed the notebook, and tucked it under his arm. “Hyungwon, I just found it strange that throughout your father’s trial, in his defence, he kept bringing you up. He said that your death traumatized him and it was why he kept making such irrational decisions.” Minhyuk paused. “I wasn’t there. I can’t pretend that I know whether or not he was being sincere, but I don’t… I don’t feel like he was.”

Hyungwon bristled at the very suggestion that his father was lying about missing him. “You didn’t know my father, don’t pretend you did!”

“It sounded like he was using you as an excuse, Hyungwon. You barely remember the man, and what you’ve told me of him, it sounds like he didn’t care about you at all.” Minhyuk looked back to the notebook. “He only started mentioning you when the case was drawing to a close, when all his other options had fallen apart, when you were all that’s left. It didn’t work, but it seemed a lot like a desperate man clinging to his last hope, even if it’s a lie.”

Hyungwon snorted. “You’ve really got a lot of nerve, haven’t you? What right do you have to suggest what my father thought of me?” He had the front door crash open, and the cold wind flooded the room. “If you’re quite done, I don’t think your presence is necessary anymore.” He paused. “I can’t believe you made me wait for you, every day, for nearly half a year, just to tell me how much my father hated me. What part of you could possibly think that was a good idea?”

Minhyuk's face crumpled, and he held the notebook tightly, digging crescents into the leather. “It’s not my intention, I didn’t come here to hurt you.”

“You did anyway.” Hyungwon said, his voice colder than the wind outside.

“I thought that if you knew you wouldn’t be confined to your house anymore… if you knew the truth about your father, the original owner of the house. That maybe you could move on…”

“Pardon?” Hyungwon said, nearly spitting the word out. “Need I remind you, this is mine? All of this is mine?”

The attic groaned in what seemed to be agreement.

Minhyuk buttoned his coat tighter. “You never told me, but I just thought perhaps your father used to confine you to this house. Maybe that’s why you can’t leave… because some part of your spirit or something doesn’t think you _should_ leave this house.”

It was one matter to insult Hyungwon's family, it was another to insult him _directly_.

“Do you think I can’t go outside? Do you think I’m just going to burn into ash if I walk out the front door?” Hyungwon snarled, pushing past Minhyuk.

It was probably cold, judging from the way the tall grasses swayed from the wind, but it had no effect on Hyungwon, the moment he stepped outside. He turned around to face Minhyuk, whose eyes were wide with shock.

The snow outside was blindingly white, and looking away from it, the only thing he could fix his gaze on was Minhyuk. “My life as a ghost has nothing to do with my father locking me up in the attic or however you think I used to live. I can move across this entire property from front yard to backyard. It’s nothing _spiritual_ keeping me here.”

“I didn’t think that,” Minhyuk placated. “I’m just trying to help. Hyungwon, everything I’ve been doing is just me trying to help, but I’m not doing a very good job.” He rested his hand on the door handle, and inhaled deeply. “Do you come outside a lot?”

“There’s hardly a point, is there?” Hyungwon said. His tone was casual, but inside he realized it was the first time he set foot outside in so many years. Everything was so much _brighter_ than he remembered. There had been no need to for so long. It was strange.

Minhyuk always made him do things he didn’t normally do.

“It’s the first time in a while,” Hyungwon finally said. It wasn’t quite enjoyable being outside - but different. Hyungwon had grown to like different. 

“Your hair blows in the wind,” Minhyuk remarked, a hint of a smile. “It’s nice.”

It was so achingly reminiscent of what used to be, that Hyungwon felt like he could forgive him for everything.

But he couldn’t. It wasn’t that easy to erase the loneliness that poured into his mind like liquid void and filled him up so completely.

And then to come back, just to insult Hyungwon with what he already knew was the truth.

Hyungwon’s memories of his father may be blurred as if looking through a stained glass, but he couldn’t deny that the memories he did have were not good.

Hyungwon knew his parents didn’t care for him, and he knew his father hated to even be in the same room as him. Even in the brief moments they were together, all he would do is just light himself up, and talk vaguely, blowing those clouds of smoke in Hyungwon's face till his head hurt.

It wasn’t ordinary smoke though, was it?

Opium.

He couldn’t even tolerate his presence sober.

Mr Chae did not enjoy his son’s existence, and having written proof was hardly a soothing thought.

He glanced at the gate for a fraction of a second – and even looking at it brought those shivers back. Of a memory, of trying desperately to break out, of being physically incapable of going further by a force greater than what he was capable of.

“I’m fine being in my house. I don’t need to move on, and you don’t have to keep looking for some reason to save me.”

The wind picked up, bracing against them, and Hyungwon could see Minhyuk physically struggle against the force.

“Go inside, Minhyuk. The trees in the backyard always make it unforgivably windy here.” Hyungwon asked, failing to keep the care out of his voice.

And all Minhyuk got from that sentence was, “Wait, did you say backyard?”

“I… guess so?” Hyungwon said.

Minhyuk looked around. “You never told me you had a backyard. Why haven’t you mentioned it? Why haven’t I seen it?”

Hyungwon snorted. If it wasn’t just so _Minhyuk,_ to get caught up in silly details. “I don’t know Minhyuk, we never exactly went on a house tour. It’s through the kitchen. Does it really matter?”

The answer revealed itself in Minhyuk immediately going in the direction of the back yard, a growing pit forming in Hyungwon’s stomach.

“Wait, Minhyuk, I don’t think you should go there.”

“Why?” Minhyuk asked, not stopping.

“I just really feel like that will not be a good idea. Minhyuk, don’t,” Hyungwon said, trailing after him, feeling a chill flow through his body. “ _Minhyuk_.”

Internally Hyungwon was attempting to rationalize the fear which unravelled inside his mind. He attempted to shut the door with his mind, but Minhyuk was already through. “Wait-”

Hyungwon stepped outside, and at his first look of the yard, he realized the last time he looked at this view, it was through the eyes of someone alive.

“Minhyuk, I don’t want to be here,” Hyungwon whispered.

Minhyuk turned around, the wonder still vivid in his eyes. “What’s wrong, Hyungwon? You can walk here, can’t you?”

“I can but I don’t want to. Something’s not right-”

It was so untouched. The backyard had fallen into a state of disrepair worse than the front. Gnarled trees surrounded most of the area, and the grass was patchy and bare. There were several broken pieces of furniture, snowed over.

Hyungwon could only see it through the eyes of his younger self, of apple trees, of his father’s private meetings in the garden, of gazing at the fish in the pond in the corner.

 The pond in the corner, entirely frozen over.

Frozen.

The weight of the world seemed to crawl out from underneath him, and Hyungwon felt himself struggle to stand. His legs buckled from underneath him, and he shut his eyes to shut the world out.

He could hear the white noise emanating from the blond in the distance, but he drowned it all out, drowned it all out, drowned-

Hyungwon’s eyes snapped open.

“Hyungwon, what’s wrong?” Minhyuk whispered, crouching down next to him.

And Hyungwon looked up at him, and thought of his father, who hated him so much. Who wouldn’t even spend a meal with him. Who blew the clouds of smoke into his face. Who wouldn’t look him in the eye. Who looked at him with eyes that looked past him. Eyes so deep you can drown.

And like ice cracking over frozen water, he realized it all too quickly, and had already broken.     

_“This hurts me more than it hurts you, son.”_

_“Please, no, I didn’t hear anything, I swear-”_

_“You know we can’t trust you, Hyungwon, you’ve proven that countless times. Why do you think we never let you out of the house?”_

_“Please, Father, I swear I didn’t mean- I didn’t understand- I didn’t want to disturb your meeting I didn’t hear anything!”_

_All he could hear was his own frantic screaming and the sound of the rain plummeting towards the earth._

_“Why do you think I will believe you? I wouldn’t be surprised if you run off the second after I let you go. I made this mistake with my first wife, letting her run off because of sentiment. Almost lost everything. I won’t let it happen again.”_

_“I don’t know anything!”_

_“This solves far too many problems, far too neatly. I’m sorry, I really am. It will only hurt a little.”_

_Hyungwon was openly weeping, desperately trying to turn back, but his father walked far too quickly and far too forcibly, and the throbbing in Hyungwon’s head was louder than his heartbeat._

_“Now shh, stop crying now, Hyungwon. You’re stronger than that. You’re just sleeping. You’re just having a nightmare.”_

_If it was a nightmare why did it feel so real, why was there dirt in his mouth, why were his hands bound, why did his head seem cloudy, why was his tears so salty-_

_“It’ll hurt less if you think it’s a nightmare, my boy. Trust me. It’s just a nightmare. Can you repeat that after me?”_

_“Father, please.”_

_“Now, now come on. Just think about how nice that smoke felt in my study. It’s just a nightmare, right?”_

_“It’s just a nightmare.”_

_“It’s just a nightmare.”_

_And then his head meets ice, and it splinters beneath him, cracking across the water, the sound ringing in his ears. He doesn’t have time to register the pain in his head as icy water meets his face and he can’t breathe, and he’s screaming but no sounds come out but it’s fine this is just a nightmare but if it’s a nightmare why does his lungs feel like they’re burning, if it’s a nightmare why is his head bleeding, if it’s a nightmare why does it feel so real, why does it hurt so much-_

 

When he opened his eyes, he didn’t see water, and clasped at his throat as if to purge it from his lungs. He inhaled deeply, pointlessly and the words fell out of his mouth before he could stop himself. “He drowned me.”

Everything snapped into place just in time to fall apart.

Standing on unsteady feet, Hyungwon brought his hand up to his hair, scratching through, and his nails caught on the bump, always hidden, never paining – because how would it, when he couldn’t feel anything?

“What do you mean?” Minhyuk said softly.

Hyungwon rubbed his head, the exact position where it was smashed into the layer of ice. A fire burned inside and he couldn’t control what he said. “I was in his study, in the wardrobe, I just wanted a pen, and he came in and I hid… he was having a meeting and I knew he’d be upset if he found me there, he always hated when I was in his study…”

He just needed a pen, the other one had broke, and he was busy with a poem, and it was such a good poem, he _needed_ to finish it. His father never let him in the study but Hyungwon would only have been there for a few seconds, but at that moment his father walked through the door.

 “I was there for hours, I barely breathed, I thought he didn’t know…”

_The door screeched open and Hyungwon tumbled out, his muscles aching from the tension._

_“I knew you were in there you know? Did you really think I didn’t?”_

_A thousand apologies, to which he just laughed, and sat on his armchair, lighting himself up._

_The stench of smoke hit Hyungwon’s face, and the way it crept down his throat, choking up his lungs was like a cruel embrace._

_“I didn’t hear anything.”_

_“I really don’t believe you.” Another exhale of smoke._

_Rain pounded against the window._

_“My head feels funny. Could I lie down, please?”_

_He shrugs. “No. I’m not done smoking.”_

_“But.”_

_Hyungwon's whole mind feels far too fuzzy, like he isn’t sure what’ s going on, there’s just so much smoke, and his father just keeps blowing out more and more into his face._

_Outside, it rains harder._

His fingers were clenched in mud, and when he opened his eyes, ice stared back at him. It was such a small pond, if he could adjust his position just by a fraction, he could probably find the exact spot where his head shattered the ice, exactly like how he remembered it. His nails made tunnels in the mud as he surveyed every inch of the pond, looking for every possible angle.

A shadow was cast over Hyungwon, and he looked up from his mania to see Minhyuk above him, blocking out the overcast sun.

“Minhyuk, move.”

“Hyungwon, why?”

“I need to see. Minhyuk. Move.”

When the light didn’t change, Hyungwon attempted to move him forcibly, succeeding in only blowing a breeze across the grass.

Minhyuk stood resolute. “Hyungwon, please get up.”

“Minhyuk, I will, just move, just let me figure this out, it was around here, but I can’t focus on how exactly I hit the water, it was just so dark…”

A hand grasped Hyungwon by his arm and pulled him up with such force, he stumbled backwards, glaring. “What was that for?”

Minhyuk's eyes were filled with such pity that Hyungwon wished he could look away, but his grip was like iron. “Hyungwon!  This isn’t like you! You need to realize this is crazy! You don’t obsess over an angle and lie down in literal _dirt_.”

Minhyuk wiped Hyungwon's hands off with his jacket. “What will this solve? What are you trying to find?”

  “Minhyuk, don’t you get it, that’s where I _died_ , that’s where my father _drowned_ me, it all makes sense, you were right, he drugged me, he drowned me and then pretended I died in my sleep, and I believed it, but now I know the truth, so just let me go-”

Minhyuk forcibly moved Hyungwon's gaze from the pond and back to him. “Hyungwon, there’s no point. You could spend the next hundred years looking into that pond and…” He trailed off.

“And what?”

“You’ll still be dead.”

He didn’t feel particularly dead. Right now, he felt more alive than ever. He felt as if he might burn into cinders from the sheer anger that ignited inside his mind. The overwhelming emotion of being _wronged_ , of his _own father_ dragging his son in the rain, for information he never even had, for a deed he would have never done…

The back door slammed open, and then flew off its hinge, falling at the entrance.

Minhyuk stepped back. “Hyungwon, talk to me. Tell me everything. From the beginning. Please.”

And Hyungwon noticed the redness of Minhyuk's nose, the way his entire frame was huddled, and realized that he was _freezing_. How long had they been outside now? An hour? Longer?

“Minhyuk, let’s just go inside, I’ll fix the door.”

“Hyungwon. Talk to me.” Minhyuk said, enunciating every word. “Please.”

Hyungwon shut his eyes, and savoured the temporary blackness, over having to look another second at the water, or the sunlight or at Minhyuk, and the way he stared at him, with those eyes brimming with sorrow.

And then he started connecting the dots.

Of hiding in his father’s study, of overhearing his meeting, of the opium smoke and the way it infiltrated his mind and breath, of the rain against the window. By the time Hyungwon had realized what was going on, it was already too late, he was already outside, his hands bound, his mind intoxicated with opium and fear, the way his mind twisted false words of soothing, and the day he woke up…

“It was the day he died. I’ve never been so sure, Minhyuk. That’s when I appeared for the first time.” Hyungwon stared at his hands. “I heard nothing from that wardrobe. I didn’t know _anything_ and even if I did, I would never tell anyone. But he didn’t believe me, he thought it was easier to _kill_ me.”

Minhyuk had been noticeably silent, settling for biting his nails and looking at Hyungwon and then back at the ground interchangeably.

“It didn’t even matter, did it? He got caught anyway. None of this mattered.”

Hyungwon said: “I didn’t have to die.”

If he closed his eyes, he could still hear the sound the ice made as it cracked.

Minhyuk hadn’t said a word, but his eyes grew progressively glassier, until the beginnings of tears had started to roll down. “Why did he get to find peace and you didn’t?”

 The silence was far too long. Neither of them had an answer to his question. Neither of them could pretend to know why his father, the murdering drug dealer, got to rest peacefully while his young son was forced to haunt the very house he died in.

His hands in his pockets, Minhyuk walked back to the house, his footsteps imprinting the pristine snow.

Hyungwon looked up at his house- _that_ house. It felt much less like his, now, and felt much more like it belonged to a man who murdered him for information he didn’t even have. The sharp peaks of the roof looked so much like the high collars he wore, the chimneys like his ties, the fence as dark as his hair…

Minhyuk treaded over the broken door carefully, and looked back. “Hyungwon?”

“It doesn’t feel like my house, Minhyuk.” He said, so quietly, he didn’t think Minhyuk could even hear.

“It’s always been yours, Hyungwon. What do you mean?”

“I can’t… I can’t fix the door.”

He couldn’t even will the door to move, it felt like a child pretending they had magic powers. Hyungwon could always _feel_ the house as an extension of himself, and now it felt more like a numbed limb, unable to manipulate, unable to move.

“Oh.” Minhyuk said. “You can’t?”

“I can’t.”

“Then don’t worry about it. I can.”

Hyungwon was about to protest the absurdity of that statement when Minhyuk crouched down, and lifted the door, grunting heavily as he attempted to shove it back into place. He buckled under the weight, visibly reddening, but remained resolute until it locked back into place.

“Come inside, Hyungwon. It’s not nice out there.”

And Hyungwon had the feeling Minhyuk was not referring to the weather. 

 

It was not intentional, but through the natural progression of footsteps, they ended up in the library. Minhyuk sank into the chair, curled into himself, leaning his head back. He seemed so small, but so content.

 It almost felt _normal_.

Like before Hyungwon learnt everything, like how it was before he left. All of this was because of Minhyuk and his damn curiosity.

Even then, how could he have known, not even Hyungwon suspected… 

There was that part of him, the part that still wondered why he was still here. If he really was a ghost because he was murdered and didn’t know why, if this was his ‘unfinished business’, it was now finished. Why was he still _here_? why was he still so _real_?

The answer presented himself in the form of the figure currently reclining in his armchair, staring at his nails.

All because of _Minhyuk_.

“How did you know?” his words were like teeth grazing against skin. He grabbed Minhyuk by his sweater, lifting him to his feet, and he didn’t resist. “How did you know it was a lie?”

Minhyuk's voice was so controlled, so completely neutral.  “I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t.”

His breathing sped up almost imperceptibly.

“It just didn’t make sense how often he kept mentioning you in his trial, how damaged he said your death left him, when he didn’t even care, when he’d clearly been running this business from before you were even born.” Minhyuk said, placing his hand over Hyungwon’s. “It just didn’t make sense, I just didn’t have all the pieces of the puzzle.”

How many more of his notebooks were in the library? What other secrets could they have revealed?

Then again, it wouldn’t have mattered, would it? Hyungwon never read any of the notebooks, did he? It was a ‘hobby best left to another life’, after all.

How _stupid_ he was. He _chose_ to live like this, the _idiot_.

“I never went to the back garden since I died. It never even occurred to me. I never even looked at it. It was like I pretended it didn’t exist.” Hyungwon was unable to stop the flow of words. “I just never liked going outside. What if I had just walked out the door so many years earlier, would I have known?” Hyungwon looked up at the ceiling, and gritted his teeth. “I didn’t even think there _was_ a yard, would it have even mattered?”

“I don’t know. And you didn’t know either.” Minhyuk said, his voice steady.

“I could have just gone outside…”

“You must’ve just blocked it out. Buried it deep in your mind.” Minhyuk’s speech was measured. “It’s not uncommon, everyone does it.”

If he could, Hyungwon thought that he’d let every bookshelf  in this room crash to the floor, break the window, fix it and then _break it again_.

“You know, it’s actually ridiculous. It makes no sense. Why did I believe it?” Hyungwon was talking far too loudly, but he couldn’t stop himself. “I was twenty-two! What healthy twenty-two year old just goes to bed and coughs themselves to death? It sounds crazy! How could I have believed that?”

“I believed it too,” Minhyuk said. “How were you supposed to know?”

Minhyuk paused. “I had a theory that the first time you appeared was when your father was executed. But I thought it was because that was when the house became yours, not for any other reason.”

Was it that simple – but…

“My mother… where would she have gone? Where would she have lived?”

Hyungwon didn’t have time to say the words before the realization struck him.

The woman, _that_ woman oh god of course, it was _her_. That’s why she knew where everything was, that’s why she never entered his former room, that’s why she was so scared.

She thought it was Hyungwon in the remains of the house.

And it was.

She was just so much different than she was in life. Her once sleek locks were pulled back into a harsh ponytail, and her eyes were so droopy.  All valuables had been removed when the woman left – including whatever was in his father’s study, of course.  The only thing that remained was the library, a room she never touched, except that once, when she left the hairclip…

“My mother lived here. She had the hairclip, the one you showed me so long ago.” The vision of Minhyuk smiling while putting the ornamental flower in his hair entered Hyungwon’s mind and he almost smiled at the image. “She knew what happened… that’s why she moved out so quickly, in the middle of a storm. She couldn’t take it when it rained, and the water kept hitting that pond. I couldn’t even recognize her, Minhyuk. What was I when I first came back? I wasn’t even… me. I was just this shadow that used to moan and cry.”

“You still do that,” Minhyuk pointed out helpfully.

“Minhyuk.”

“Sorry. Trying to lighten the mood,” Minhyuk said, flashing a grin, before dropping it abruptly. “She must have lived elsewhere after that. She never seemed to be involved in any of your father’s activities. She just disappeared off the federal record.”

“Why was I so blind, Minhyuk? All these years, the answers were right here, and I just never bothered to look deeper than right in front of me.”

Hyungwon rubbed his hands on his eyes. “The information should make me feel relieved, shouldn’t it? But all I feel is tired.” 

He looked up, at the mahogany ceilings, at the peeling wallpaper, at the staircase railings, a sight he saw every day for the past decades. Even now, he could navigate this house with his eyes closed, yet it all felt tainted.

He thought of the locked study door, of the opium scent on the furniture, of the pond in summer, when leaves, not ice, dusted the surface.

It all felt so fake.

“The only thing real here is you, and you aren’t even supposed to be here. Everything else is all built on lies and secrets and spirits. You’re the only thing in this house which hasn’t been _tainted_ and you aren’t even supposed to be here.”

The words stuck in his throat. “I can understand why you wanted to leave, now. You shouldn’t have come back at all. Everything about this house is haunted. Maybe I am too. You never wanted any of this - I’ve wasted so much of your time.”

Minhyuk was watching Hyungwon so intently, as if memorizing the curves of his face. “That’s a lie and we both know that. I never wanted to leave, Hyungwon, and I never stopped missing you. I couldn’t come back.”

He fiddled with the strap of his backpack, dropping his eye contact. “Not with this information weighing down on me. It didn’t make sense to me alone, but it seemed too perfectly coincided to be worthless. When I first saw your father’s notebook, I ignored it for more than a month, because I knew whatever I’d find I’d have to tell you. I just didn’t know what it meant for-" Minhyuk paused. “Whatever this is. Whatever’s between us. I don’t know what this is, Hyungwon.”

“I don’t know, either, Minhyuk. It probably shouldn’t exist. I know that much.”

The space between them seemed too vast, and Minhyuk crossed it.

“You’re so much more real, nowadays. Why is that?” Minhyuk asked, tracing a finger across Hyungwon’s jaw.

“I’m not sure,” Hyungwon said, and he was reasonably sure he was lying. He caught his hand. “You didn’t have to tell me what you found out.”

“I had to. I couldn’t keep something like that secret.” Minhyuk’s gaze shifted to the ground. “The guilt was eating me alive. I just had this fear that maybe you wouldn’t even be here anymore. That’s what I was worried about, more than anything. That you might move on. It’s so selfish but I couldn’t bear to think you’d be gone.”

It was a familiar burn of grief that reminded Hyungwon that he was still _here_. The nail in the coffin, so to say, that no matter what he found out, no matter what he learnt, he’d always be doomed to this nonexistence. 

“Well I’m still here, aren’t I?”

His words didn’t quite have the tone of positivity that he wished it to have, but Minhyuk missed the undertone.

“I’m selfish enough to be happy that you’re here,” Minhyuk said. Hyungwon's face must have been doing _something_ because Minhyuk then said. “I missed that look. That look as if I’m the only one you ever want to listen to in the world.”

Minhyuk's arms linked around his neck, and he leaned into Hyungwon's chest. “I missed this so much. I missed you so much. I’m so sorry.”

It seemed like it had to be some universal force like gravity that led to Minhyuk placing a tender kiss on Hyungwon’s lips.

Hyungwon didn’t even dream he’d get to feel that again.

The warmth, the overpowering warmth was there again and Hyungwon treasured each fragment of it, like the first sunny day on the winter of his soul. And Hyungwon knew Minhyuk was going to leave soon, and Hyungwon would be even more empty when he left, but at that moment all he could do was savour the sensation of Minhyuk leaning into his mouth like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do.

“Hyungwon, I could just drop out, you know,” Minhyuk murmured, breathing a hot mist. “I could just live here. I never need to leave, I could just vanish from existence, kind of like you do.”

Hyungwon shifted, and Minhyuk took the opportunity to caress his neck, each flood of warmth rippling through Hyungwon like a wave.

“Don’t you like it there?” Hyungwon managed to choke out.

“It’s not about liking it. It’s fine but no one there is you. And I miss you, I miss you so much.” Minhyuk murmured, the sound of his heartbeat thrumming in Hyungwon’s ears. “I told you, if I had assurance that I would come back, I’d die already. I don’t see a point in anything without you.”

“You can’t- die,” Hyungwon said, attempting to sound firm, but it came out as a breathy sigh.

“You did,” Minhyuk replied, capturing Hyungwon’s lips again, far too passionately, almost worshipping his mouth.

Hyungwon, as he often seemed to do nowadays, wished he was alive. Kissing Minhyuk was _fantastic_ , and felt more and more real every moment more that he pressed into him but –

 It wasn’t what it could have been. It wasn’t what it would have been like if he was still alive, if he could feel more than just warmth, if he could taste the way his kisses felt, if he could feel the grip of Minhyuk's hands on his neck, if he could _participate_ more.

He tried to remind himself he would never be able to. It was so _selfish_ to keep wanting this when the divide between them was greater than anything else –  although the gap between their lips at that moment was a strong second contender.

Hyungwon leaned in again but Minhyuk pulled back, still breathing heavily. “Air.”

“Sorry. I keep forgetting.” Hyungwon said, not feeling particularly sorry at all.

“I’m kinda into it, honestly,” Minhyuk said, still not detaching himself. “I could do this all day for like the next year. There’s something about your mouth that’s just-” 

He stopped listening to Minhyuk’s voice now, highly occupied in the way his lips were swollen, his chest heaving, and his eyes heavy-lidded.

Hyungwon hadn’t realized what a _tangible_ effect he had. Cautiously, he lowered one of his hands to rest on Minhyuk's hipbone, the other creeping under his shirt, on his spine. They locked eyes for a moment, and the air was so heavy around them it felt like lead - and all he could see were Minhyuk's eyes, darker than the night.

“Go ahead,” Minhyuk said hoarsely.

Hyungwon bent down to kiss the column of Minhyuk's neck at the same time he dug his nails into his skin, and the noise elicited was dripping with want.

“Hyungwon- I didn’t realize you could- oh, God.” Minhyuk was moaning, barely able to finish the sentence, arching himself into Hyungwon’s touch.

“More.” Minhyuk sighed, without intending to, and he looked up at Hyungwon, his face flushed. Hyungwon let the hand on his hip reach into his shirt, stroking the skin there, and it’s even _warmer_ and all Hyungwon wants to do is wrap himself in this heat for the rest of his life.

They kiss again, deeply and intensely, and Hyungwon moves down to run his mouth over Minhyuk's collarbones and Minhyuk grew quiet, just breathing heavily, his own hands dug into Hyungwon’s hair.

“You’re very quiet,” Hyungwon said. 

“I can’t even think into words right now, I’ll just ramble on and ruin the moment.”

“I think I’d like it very much if you keep talking.” And then Hyungwon was letting his mouth overcome Minhyuk's shoulder blades, and the sound he gets from that is one that will remain in his mind forever, probably.

 Hyungwon realized at the change in pressure that Minhyuk was subtly but definitely grinding himself against Hyungwon, in search of friction.

“Why did you stop?” Minhyuk whispered, his voice cracking, following his gaze and looking down. “Oh.”

They stared at each other.

It took Minhyuk about four attempts before he found the words. “Well. I should. Probably do something about that.”

He still had his hands around Hyungwon's neck. “Obviously, right, you don’t really have a body so…”

“I should probably… go… have a shower…” 

He never even considered this - but now the idea had formed into his head. Just how much could Hyungwon do, just what effect could he have on the world around him, on Minhyuk?

And Hyungwon broke the silence, letting one hand drop to the waistband of Minhyuk’s pants.

“I can go lower,” Hyungwon finally said, his fingertips dancing across. “If you want.”

There was a sharp intake of breath. “I want you to go lower.”

One of Minhyuk's hand graced Hyungwon's face, tracing his cheekbone. “What can you feel, Hyungwon? Are you… enjoying this?”

The question seemed ridiculous. “I am, but not in the way you are,” Hyungwon said. “I like seeing you like this. I like seeing my effect on things. It makes me feel like I’m alive. I like the effect I’m having on you, so,” Hyungwon cupped the front of the other’s pants and Minhyuk _whined_ , so pitifully.

He almost toppled backwards, and Hyungwon pulled him back. ”Hyungwon you need to understand how fucking weird this is for me right now, like I thought about this but I didn’t think it could ever happen. Realistically.”

“You thought about it?” Hyungwon asked, intrigued.

Minhyuk rubbed at his throat. “Uh. Yeah. It was half a year, you know? Lonely nights, roommates out, nothing else to do, memories of the best kiss of my life.”

He thought of him?

They kissed again, and this time Hyungwon gave everything he could, drawing every possible physical energy he possessed into the kiss.

“I’m gonna fucking fall over, Hyungwon,” Minhyuk breathed and Hyungwon nodded, thoughtfully, before willing the armchair forward. Minhyuk barely looked at it, entirely unfazed, before collapsing into it, pulling Hyungwon down with him, refusing to disconnect their lips until he finally panted for air, physically pushing Hyungwon’s face back with a hand.

Hyungwon pressed his hand on top of the other man’s, and brought both to Minhyuk's chest and dug his fingertips into the skin. Minhyuk gasped at the ceiling, his nails making crescent indents into the armrests.

“More,” Minhyuk whispered, softer and then louder, seemingly as he lost more of his inhibitions.

“You’re going to need to be more specific,” Hyungwon replied, tilting his head to the side.

Minhyuk moved Hyungwon's hand down on top of his own, pulled down his zipper, and then rested their hands on him, leaving in no uncertain terms exactly what he’s thinking of .

“That’s rather bold,” Hyungwon laughed, but refocused his attention on stroking him, slowly at first but then increasing the speed, wishing he could feel more than just _heat_.

“What does this feel like?” Hyungwon asked.

“I literally don’t know a fucking word in the entire dictionary, oh _god_.” Minhyun’s groan resounded across the library.

“Learn some words then,” Hyungwon said, his grip tightening. 

Minhyuk inhaled and then babbled out, unable to keep a single syllable inside of him. “Like a cool breeze, like dipping into a pool, like submerging into the bottom of the ocean, like it’s the hottest day of the fucking year and you’re the only water left on earth and you’re all mine to drink and I can’t decide whether to savour you or just swallow you whole.” Minhyuk flushed. “I…”

“All yours?” Hyungwon echoed, carefully watching Minhyuk's expression. “Did you ever tell anyone about me?”

“No,” was Minhyuk's immediate reply. “It would be too complicated, they’d think I was crazy or something.”

Hyungwon towered over Minhyuk, letting his other hand wrap around Minhyuk's jawbone. “Is that the only reason?”

Minhyuk's eyes widened, his breathing uneven. “I didn’t want _them_ to know about you, I just wanted you to be my secret, to be something that only I have, that no one else could even fathom.”

Hyungwon, now openly straddling, leaned over, and looked down at Minhyuk, whose eyes fluttered closed, lips red and pursed and waiting expectantly.

He always liked having a physical effect, and knocking over bookshelves wasn’t enough anymore, there was something intoxicating about this, something that made him feel closer to human than he ever had. There was something so quintessentially living about the way Minhyuk was coming undone before him because of him.

Hyungwon leaned close enough to brush his face against Minhyuk's, and passed his lips, and sucked a spot in his neck, never ceasing stroking.

The shock, the sensation, the cool air was too much for him and Hyungwon could sense he was close from his stuttered breaths.

“What are you thinking about?” Hyungwon asked.

“You keep asking me questions but I don’t have anything profound to tell you. It’s mostly just how fucking hot you look right now, how I could look at this every day of my life, how you stare at me like I’m some kind of experiment, and I’m so into it.”

Hyungwon's pace increased and Minhyuk moaned again.

“Please kiss me,” Minhyuk said, grabbing Hyungwon's hair, running through it.

“Why?” Hyungwon asked, with a smirk.

“You know why.”

Hyungwon rocked his hips forward, once, twice, and sweat rolled down Minhyuk's face. “Do I?”

“Fine, fine, just keep _doing that, you_ ’re just so beautiful and kissing you is the best thing I’ve ever done, it’s so unlike kissing anyone else, but forget that, I’ll never be able to kiss anyone else for the rest of my life, but that’s fine, because I don’t think I even want to.”

Hyungwon stared at him –

And kissed him. And kissed him. and kissed him until he felt Minhyuk come against him, whispering something into the kiss, until his arms fell limply around Hyungwon’s waist until he looked up at Hyungwon, with dark eyes, dark eyes that still had that tender look.

Minhyuk, slumped in the chair, entirely drained, willed the energy to raise a hand to stroke through Hyungwon's hair.

“There was something I worried about, you know?” Minhyuk said, after some time, twisting a strand of hair around his finger.

“What was?” Hyungwon asked.

Minhyuk reclined further in the chair, lazily exhaling. “You could just wait around for someone bored with time to kill to come in this house and just replace me, and it would be just the same? But I could go across the entire world, look in every haunted house, and I would never be able to find someone and something like you, and I just don’t think I’ll ever be ready to let it go.” It was a gentle smile that crossed his lips. “I don’t think there’s anyone else in this life for me but you.”

Minhyuk looked at his expression and laughed, brushing a hand over his lips. “Say something, don’t just stare at me and the mess I’ve made of your armchair.”

Hyungwon wished he had his poems, wished he could go back a few hundred years to find some kind of metaphor or analogy he used, some neatly worded statement to fully express how much he felt for Minhyuk, anything but having to come up with it on the spot, having to use inferior words for such a complex emotion.

“Everything is always so cold, Minhyuk,” Hyungwon says, helplessly looking away. “Everything is so cold, and you’re the only thing that ever brings heat, you just make me so warm.”

Minhyuk pulled Hyungwon closer, and it was like what he imagined the sun was supposed to feel like.

“I wish we could do more, I wish we could be more, but if this is it? If this is all we can feel and do - it’s good enough. Anything is good enough if it’s you.”

Hyungwon wondered if he’d ever be able to satisfied, or if he would always be yearning for more, wishing he was alive, wishing that he didn’t have to be restricted in this shell.

But it was enough for Minhyuk, and if it was enough for him, it would be enough for Hyungwon.

 

Hyungwon's bedroom was never opened, even by Hyungwon himself, and when he noticed the door open, he knew it was Minhyuk inside. It was _always_ locked, but from the manner in which the entire door handle broke off, he could assume it must have flown off during his outburst earlier.

“I wondered where you went,” Hyungwon said, taking a step inside carefully.

Unlike the master bedroom, his room was bare bones, only a stripped bed and empty closet remained in the entire room. The single window revealed a landscape coated in snow, and there he was, Minhyuk, peering out of it. Grey clouds had rolled in, and the first drizzle sprinkled down.

“This is your room, isn’t it? It’s the only one I couldn’t go into.”

A faint smile grew on Hyungwon because it was so quintessentially _him_. “Yes. And yet you deliberately went into it?”

It was the usual banter, but Minhyuk didn’t appear to be interested in it. His hand rested on the glass, warm prints forming. “Door broke. I just needed to see it. It’s not what I expected, you know?”

“I suppose it’s a bit small, but I wasn’t very materialistic,” Hyungwon reasoned. “It looked better when it had furniture in it.”

“It’s not about the size. My room is even smaller.  I mean it must have looked differently when you were alive, but it’s so… dark? So isolated. It’s the last door at the end of a long corridor. It couldn’t be physically further from your parents’ room unless you were literally outside.”

When phrased like that, it did sound more like a dungeon. The thought was prickly. “I thought it was okay.”

“I don’t.” Minhyuk tore his eyes away from the falling snow.

“I think you deserved better, Hyungwon. I don’t think you deserved to be murdered by your own father because he thought money was more important than your life. I don’t think you deserved to have lost so much of yourself that you couldn’t even remember your own mother. And I don’t think you deserved to be cursed to carry on the rest of eternity as some spirit, confined to the very house that you died in.”

If tears could fall, they would.

“They’re dead, Minhyuk, why does it still bother me?” Hyungwon asked, hoarsely.

The past and the present were converging in themselves, in this space. Hyungwon felt like he could _see_ his past self where Minhyuk was standing, looking out the window, just like how he was right now.

It was like two layered drawings, and the lines were overlapping, the colours spilling and Hyungwon wasn’t sure how to separate the pages anymore. Wondered if there ever was a way to separate them to begin with, or if he’d forever be tied to his past.

Minhyuk had become part of his past and his present and he was the rainbow that was staining all over the pages in a confusing blur.

How wonderful it would be to be able to not have to be _stuck_ here anymore, to not have to look around every corner and think that he’s done this before, to not have to think _why_ he ended up like this.   

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” Hyungwon whispered. “I don’t want to be in this house anymore. I don’t want to see any of it ever again.”

Even with his eyes shut, he could _feel_ the house pulsing beneath him, could feel the rain battering against it, Minhyuk's presence the singular light. The house was too close, too _inside_ of him and he wanted to rip it out.

“This is your house, Hyungwon. No one can take that away from you. Everything that happened here is already gone, nothing here can hurt you anymore. This is _your_ house.” Minhyuk said, his voice shaking. “You’re the only ghost here, okay?”

The walls never used to be this tight, the rain never used to be that loud.

“I know why you want to leave - but if you can’t, I’ll be here.” Minhyuk lifted Hyungwon's head up and looked into his eyes. “Everything else disappeared and was forgotten. Except you. You remained. You were _that_ important. You’re that important to me.”

It was that tender look again. That look like Hyungwon was the most precious jewel in the world.

“You just like me for my poems,” he said, smiling, despite himself.

Minhyuk shook his head. “It’s not just because of the poems. I love you for everything.”

And without pausing to even breathe, to even let the words settle in Hyungwon's mind, Minhyuk continued. “Speaking of, I’ve actually stopped plagiarizing a dead guy now, you should be proud of me. I mean your poems are still the main inspiration, but I've stopped like outright lifting sections. I need to show you this one song I wrote for one of my classes. I got like a B but I’m really proud of it. I was really inspired by that one poem of yours where you spoke about winter, and I thought I’d do one about summer. Let me find it, I think it’s in my backpack…”

Hyungwon gazed on as Minhyuk talked excitedly, separating the pages of his past and future, just like he separated the pages of his notebook now, flipping through it to find the song, glancing back at Hyungwon to gauge his reaction as he sang it aloud, so huskily and softly.

The rainbow outside shone through the window, illuminating the backdrop of Minhyuk’s silhouette. Hyungwon almost wanted to say something, but then Minhyuk started talking about another song, and then about a dream he had, and what the weather was like on the bus ride here, and Minhyuk shows him a cartoonish drawing he made in class, and Hyungwon stops looking outside and just looks at what’s in front of him, a smile growing on his face as he traces the messy handwriting.

He didn't even notice it stopped raining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've always felt a bit iffy about the second part so i hope you liked it ahh  
> chapter 3 is only an epilogue so make of that what you will ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> thanks sooo much for reading and i hope you enjoy <33 as always you can find me on twitter and tumblr @minhyukwithagun!


	3. epilogue

Changkyun didn’t even have the time to say hello before Kihyun started barking at him from the phone.

Kihyun’s voice was thick with mucus, and Changkyun could swear he could feel the germs passing through the phone. “For the love of God, why are you calling me? You better be fucking dying or missing a leg or two.”

“Kihyun,” Changkyun said, taking a deep breath. “I’ve been here like twenty minutes. He hasn’t shown up.”

“So? He’s like five-hundred years old, maybe he broke his hip on the way to work. He hasn’t cancelled and I didn’t get a phone call from the morgue, so he’s probably still on his way,”

 “Kihyun, there’s no one _here_.”

Spring had come early that year, and Changkyun could not even use the cold as an excuse, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t try. “But I’m freezing.”

His friend’s tone was unforgiving. “Take a run around the block.”

There was an overdramatic sigh, which led to a coughing fit. “Look, Changkyun, it’s a very simple task. It took a fair amount of persuasion and fruit baskets to convince the guy to even _show_ us this tomb and this is the only viewing time he was willing to give me. I don’t know, maybe he has shuffleboard tournaments every other day. I don’t care.”

He audibly hacked up phlegm and Changkyun held the phone further away from his ear. “Just show up, smile, and see if the house looks like it’ll explode. It’s a fucking steal for that price and you know it. We could fit the entire first generation of our fraternity in that room, and it’ll be less than our tuition!”

At the excitement, Kihyun broke off to cough viciously and Changkyun winced, thinking it was worth doing a quick online search for pathogen transmission through cell phone lines.

He inhaled deeply. “Look, I understand it from a practical point of view, but man, I’m standing outside the house right now and I’m freaked the fuck out. It’s _huge_ and it’s so… dark.”

“I’ll buy you a nightlight.”

“Kihyun…” It was a whine, and he knew it.

“ _Changkyun_ ,” Kihyun mimicked. The increase in inflection combined with his congestion led to him sounding like a squeaky toy. “Why don’t you want us to be happy? Do you want to continue having your bedtime at ten? Do you want to live with your parents till you’re eighty?”

A groan escaped him. _Of course_ those words would come back to haunt him. “No, Kihyun, I don’t.”

“Then I don’t understand why we’re having this conversation unless you’re very interested in the acoustics of my mucus, in which case, stop being fucking weird.”

Despite the older man’s biting remark, Changkyun was well-versed in the rhythms and tones of Yoo Kihyun, and knew he was about to give in. Changkyun was not above using Kihyun’s sickness to his advantage. If he argued for much longer, Kihyun would have give up out of tiredness (or be forced to by Hoseok who would aggressively tuck his patient into bed). Breathing deeply, ready to whine at the precise and perfect pitch, he was interrupted by the sound of a car door closing. “Oh fuck, he’s here.”

The car spluttered, and the smoke it emitted wafted into the sky eerily slow as it approached the house. Paint flaked off the door as it was opened.

Kihyun’s voice brightened. “Oh! Wonderful! Now I can get back to sleep, and you can look around for any squatters in the attic.”

“Fine. Get better soon. I’ll visit later.” Changkyun ended the call with more force than necessary, if just to vent out his anger.

Plastering on a friendly smile, he turned to the aging man walking up to the house, struggling against the long grass which bent against him.

“Mr Yoo?” the real estate agent said.

“Unfortunately not. He’s very ill.” Changkyun added as an afterthought. “I’m Changkyun.”

The real estate agent nodded. “I’m sorry to hear about Mr Yoo’s ill health. Do you still want to continue with the house viewing? I know Mr Yoo was quite determined about this viewing, but I’m sure you can clearly see this house is by no means the bargain it seems like.”

Changkyun flashed an apologetic smile. “I promised him I’d go inside at least.”

The real estate agent ran a hand through greying hair, but walked forward, not bothering to unlock the door.

“Is it always unlocked?” Changkyun asked, wondering if perhaps they could forego renting all together and have the entire fraternity become the illegal attic squatters Kihyun feared.

“A while back there used to be a lock, but every few months it would just be broken. Eventually I just stopped locking it. There’s nothing worth stealing in there anyway,” the agent said.

The first thing that caught Changkyun’s eye was the sheer _mustiness_ of the house, as if it was shut for the last century. “It’s…big.”

“It is.”

 _So big_. The entrance hall – what house even _has_ an entrance _hall_ anymore? – took up a fraction of the entire first floor, and the house was filled with sharp corners, jutting into various rooms. The floors were in varying degrees of rotting wood, the walls peeling with several vastly different types of wallpaper beneath it.

Changkyun fiddled with his hands for several minutes before the real estate agent seemed to remember his job.

“Welcome. This is the entrance hall, leading to several of the main rooms. The lounge is up straight ahead, authentically vintage.”

A flash of light, like glint on glass, caught his eye from a cabinet on the wall, and he braced himself as he opened it.

His cracked reflection greeted him. The disorientation of seeing tens of fragmented visions of himself caused him to close the cabinet rather quickly. Changkyun wasn’t _scared_ of his reflection, but there was something undeniably eerie about the image he had just seen.

“So, if you follow me along, this room is the library. It’s probably the most impressive room in the house, still stocked from the original owners over a hundred years ago.” The agent looked back to Changkyun. “It’s truly quite magnificent.”

It was – alright. It was a library, nothing special. Lots of bookshelves, lots of books, two armchairs seated across from each other and a book on the table in the centre – Changkyun was not particularly impressed.

“It’s really fucking cold in here,” Changkyun said. He abruptly stopped his sweep of the room. “Oh. Sorry. For swearing.”

The reason why it was so cold became clear as Changkyun looked up and saw the massive hole in the wall, where a window should have been. Peering down, he noticed that the glass shards littered the grass outside.

“Did someone break in?” Changkyun asked, stepping back carefully.

Though, if someone broke in, wouldn’t the glass shards be on the inside? Changkyun caught enough glimpses of Kihyun’s Criminal Minds marathons to know _that_ much.

The real estate agent seemed more tired than concerned, giving the window a mere cursory glance. “No. Yes? Possibly. That just… happens sometimes. Not often. Vandals probably. You know how the youth is nowadays.” Plastering on a fake smile, he turned. “Speaking of old houses, it definitely has the quaint theme that the youth are obsessed with nowadays. The books are all real.”

Changkyun didn’t think the books were fake to begin with, and the statement just made him more uneasy. “Well, we don’t want it for the aesthetic. It’s more for the space.”

“Big family?”

“What?” Changkyun said, spit spraying from his mouth. “God, no, Kihyun isn’t my dad.”

“I was going to suggest he was your brother.”

“No! We’re not family or anything,” Changkyun replied, half-tempted to find his family tree just to personally demonstrate that Yoo Kihyun and Im Changkyun were _not_ related. “We just joined a fraternity. We’re looking for a bigger house. And this place has so many bedrooms.”

“Six,” the agent supplied. “And some spare rooms that could be converted.”

Changkyun nodded thoughtfully as the agent led him to the kitchen – possibly the dustiest room he had seen. Even by the surrounding conditions, the kitchen was sparse, with no fridge but only an ancient gas stove. His nose wrinkled at the thick layer of dust that coated every surface. “Does this place have electricity?”

“No. It was disconnected from the main grid for… sixty years? Probably longer. I think there’s one or two lightbulbs in some rooms, so there’s some very basic and primitive wiring.” At hearing Changkyun’s loud sigh, the agent quickly added. “It does have plumbing now, though! The last owner was kind enough to install it.”

Changkyun briefly entertained the thought of Kihyun falling in the bathroom in the dark.

“That’s certainly something,” Changkyun said.

The agent continued the tour, showing him the bedrooms on the second floor, all of them in an eerily pristine but _empty_ condition, such a far contrast to all the houses they’d seen up to that point – all messy rooms, cockroaches crawling up the walls, the lingering aroma of cigarette smoke in the air, lipstick stains on every sheet.

Kihyun firmly rejected all of them, citing that he didn’t want to spend most of his first year of university recovering from a herpes infection without even being able to console himself with the memory of the sex that led to it.

Changkyun had agreed at the time, but looking at the peeling walls around him, apprehension coiled in his stomach.

This house was just so _dead_.

Perhaps that was the most eerie of all - for the house to feel dead, Changkyun had the overwhelming feeling that at some point this house felt alive.

Either way, Changkyun knew Kihyun already had his mind made up when he found the listing in some dark corner of the internet, and this was just a formality. This would be their new home.

There was no point making a fuss over it.

It wouldn’t be too bad, Changkyun supposed, once everyone moved in. They could paint the walls with some of the extra money they saved on the rental, and a few rugs would make quite the difference. There would be enough rooms to not be forced to share, and that would be a blessing. Changkyun was frankly _tired_ of having to split a room.

The agent had led him up the stairs now, and Changkyun followed, praying the steps don’t cave in beneath his shoes.

The room at the end of the corridor was locked and the real estate agent attempted to force it open until Changkyun intervened, fearing the idea of dealing with a senior citizen with a broken hip on his hands.

“Right, I’ve never actually found the key for this room,” the agent confessed. “Don’t worry though, I’m sure I can arrange a locksmith to open it.”

Changkyun _really_ wished Kihyun were here instead of him. 

 “Do you think you’ll take the offer?” the agent asked, giving the locked door one final failed tug.

“Yes,” Changkyun said, unable to keep the sigh out of his breath.

The real estate agent leant against the wall, running a hand through his thinning hair. “Really? After everything, you still want it?”

Changkyun shrugged. “I mean. I guess.”

“ _Why?_ ”

To which Changkyun just replied, “It’s cheap.”

The real estate agent’s groan echoed. “I told the same thing to Mr. Yoo and he dismissed me, but perhaps you’ll listen. This house isn’t worth it. Not everything is about money.”

“Look, we’re not idiots,” Changkyun began, wondering why he felt as if he was lying. “We understand that it’s by no means fit for living at present, and that it’ll be a bit of an investment. It’s no mansion – well, I suppose it _was_ a mansion.” He felt himself reminded of the ‘entrance hall’ again. “It’s no palace, but it’s got the space we need for the price we can afford. We don’t care if it has a leaky roof.”

“It’s not about that.” The real estate agent looked down, almost shamefully. “It’s a personal reason as well, I admit. I sold this house to someone your age, also from college. He died.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Changkyun said, in lack of anything better to say. Rest in peace, he supposed, but it wasn’t as if he could even _pretend_ it affected him.

The real estate agent looked down. “This house has had several instances of illegal drug use, and premature death. I feel obliged to tell you that much.”

“What kind of drugs, exactly?” Changkyun asked, visions of a meth lab in the library running through his mind, which was, at least slightly awesome.

“Opium.”

How old _was_ this house? “I appreciate the concern, but you don’t need to worry about us. No opium addicts among us.”

The real estate agent ignored the joke. “Anything else?”

 hesitated. “Oh, could I see the attic though? It’s kind of important.”

If the real estate agent had any protests, he didn't voice them, merely sighed.

It was a bit like a maze, how the house was laid out, and in a small corner, was the entrance to the attic, up a ladder.

Changkyun looked at the unsturdy ladder, and back at the elderly man. “I’ll go in alone, don’t worry about it.”

“Open the curtains when you get up there,” the real estate agent advised.

What attic had _curtains_? Changkyun shuffled around in the dark for a few moments, before seeing a singular strip of light, and opened it, bathing the room in the dull afternoon sun and dust.

It was empty, as attics generally are, just some old furniture sloppily covered in plastic and a few more bookshelves. No squatters. Kihyun would be relieved.

“Did you open the damn curtains?”

Changkyun, on the point of leaving, spun around, feeling a lot like a child called out in class. He was about to defend himself when-

“Good afternoon to you, too.”

“You know I don’t like the sun,” the first voice said.

“I do, which is why I didn’t open them,” the second replied.

Two entirely separate voices, neither from the real estate agent, were talking. Changkyun instantly realized perhaps he should have taken Kihyun’s warning of attic squatters more seriously, rather than spending fifteen seconds on a cursory glance.

The two were talking again now.

“Then how were they magically opened?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“ _Just close them_!”

 Changkyun was _certain_ they were referring to him, but the curtains drifted closed by themselves, leaving just a small gap of sunlight illuminating the attic. Which was… odd to say the least – but maybe there was just some sort of switch where he couldn’t see. That was probably it.

Careful to avoid making a sound, Changkyun navigated behind what appeared to be a broken piano, and looked to the side to see two figures, men, standing around – one brunette, and one blond.

What he didn’t see were any beds, food, or water – the kind of things expected from people living in a place, no matter what the space, no matter how temporary.

“You’re quite grumpy today,” the blond commented – the second voice.

“Shut up.”

The blond reached forward to ruffle the brunette’s hair, smirking as it messed up the neat image. The other man groaned, but not in a tone of annoyance.

There was something quite domestic about the interaction, and Changkyun would have found it endearing, if not for the concern bubbling inside of him.

There was also something _off_ about them. Perhaps it was the lighting, but they seemed almost luminously pale. The difference in speaking style was evident as well, the blonde sounded like any of his friends, but the brunette seemed to have an accent of some kind?

“Are you satisfied now, Minhyuk?”

“Never enough,” he said, flashing a toothy smile. Looking around, he caught sight of the open trapdoor, and Changkyun become rather aware of this at the exact same time Minhyuk did.

“Was this your doing?” Minhyuk asked, turning to the other man, who shook his head.

“No, someone’s here,” the brunette said, closing his eyes, resting a head against his temples. “At least one, maybe two? I’m not sure, it feels so vague… I can feel him walking around… somewhere. It’s someone who’s been here before.”

“They were here before?”

His eyes snapped open. “It’s that real estate agent.”

Minhyuk clapped his hands together, and grinned. “Is he still around? It’s been _years_! Oh, he was so great, what a lovely guy, tried to get me to move into a caravan instead of here, such a fun guy.”

“Please refer to him as guy one more time, it’s very enjoyable.”

If there were potential murderers, they had to be the most inefficient around.

Minhyuk ignored the other man and Changkyun observed the way the blond was looking down at the trapdoor, but refusing to step near it. “Do you think he’ll remember me? Should I say hi?”

“Minhyuk.” The other man’s tone was of extreme exasperation. “You’ll literally give him a heart attack. He will actually _die_. Do you want all three of us to live together like some strange bunch of ragtag misfits? Does he even know your name? Do you even know his?”

Minhyuk looked over his shoulder. “Of course I do.”

The taller crossed his arms, an obvious competitive stance. “Tell me what it is.”

“It’s Mr… Mr P…” Minhyuk paused.

Changkyun listened intently, because truthfully, he didn’t know his name either. It was definitely something with a P though…

“Were you going to say his name was Mr Person?”

“No.”

“Minhyuk.”

“Fine. Yes, I was. Don’t look so smug Hyungwon, you forget your own birthday.”

The logical part of Changkyun was trying to place exactly how these two people and this house were connected because, clearly, something was out of place. For one, didn’t the blond just imply he… moved in here?

Minhyuk gave one last look to the trapdoor and turned away, and to Changkyun’s own concern, walked to the bookshelf perpendicular to Changkyun. If he turned too far to his right, the two would be looking directly at each other.

But he didn’t. He moved so strangely, barely looking at his surroundings or steps, sort of effortlessly drifting.

“Just ignore him, Minhyuk. He’s probably checking the locks or something. Or the library window, maybe? I don’t think it fixed itself since the last time it broke.”

“Yes, I believe you broke it when I suggested that maybe we could move some furniture around in one of the bedrooms.”

“It’s just so unnecessary,” Hyungwon began, raising his hand to his hip, and then hesitated. “Is someone here?”

Changkyun stopped breathing.

“Yeah, he’s downstairs.”

“No, I feel like there’s someone else here.”

But Minhyuk didn’t seem interested. “That’s what you said about that pigeon that flew around the master bedroom. You swore up and down that someone was there, and yet, all we found was a confused bird. Maybe Mr P brought his pet dog or something.”

“Maybe,” Hyungwon said doubtfully.

The attic was large but sound travelled easily - this clearly observed by how Hyungwon’s voice carried even from the opposite side of the attic. Still, for a moment Changkyun thought about running for it, but his curiosity weighed out, and he just hid further into the darkness. They didn’t seem… _actively_ dangerous.

“No, we’re not doing this again,” Minhyuk snapped. “Can we just decide on what to read today?”

“ _I_ _’_ _ve_ already decided because it’s _my_ turn,” Hyungwon replied, and the next action caused Changkyun to consider that perhaps he contracted Kihyun’s disease and was actually madly hallucinating in a hospital bed.

Hyungwon eyed the bookshelf and a book with a maroon cover physically flew through the air into Hyungwon's hand, and he appeared to look entirely unfazed by it. That was _not_ physically possible. Changkyun may have barely passed high school physics, but he knew _that much_.

His mind struggled to rationalize the action that just unfolded - and blaming it on a momentary lapse in reality was not a conceivable explanation.

“I thought this was supposed to be a mutual agreement?” Minhyuk replied, walking back to Hyungwon, plucking the book from his fingers. He looked it at with disdain. “Oh come on, this one is like seven hundred pages.”

“Are you worried you can’t count that high? Don’t worry they come with numbers at the bottom.”

Changkyun suppressed a giggle.

“We should wait until after your dear Mr Person leaves,” Hyungwon advised.

Minhyuk shrugged. “It’s not like he’s going to come in the attic.”

“Well, _I_ don’t want to stay in the attic. I love that new rug so much.”

“You were the one who _said_ we should check out the books in the attic to begin with!”

“Like you wanted to reread any of the library books again.”

Changkyun wondered where Mr Person – no, that was _not_ his name - was. Surely he couldn’t be hearing this, he would have done something?

The more he heard them speak, the more confused Changkyun became. Their voices were strangely feathery, they reminded him of the wind. He would be inclined to assume it was an accent…

But it seemed like something more.

Hyungwon reached out his hand. “Come on, we can come back later and pick out whatever picture book you want to read.”

Minhyuk smirked as he took hold of Hyungwon’s hand, interlocking his fingers so perfectly it seemed as if they’ve done it a thousand times. Minhyuk held the hand up to his lips, and pressed a kiss to it.

Hyungwon seemed to laugh, and then-

They faded, effortlessly. One moment they were there, and the next there was no sign that they even existed, just the air around them.

They could not have just… disappeared?

Changkyun waited for a moment, and then walked out from behind the piano, towards where they stood.

Dust surrounded every area – even where they stood. How was that even _possible_?

“Mr Yoo?”

The familiar voice of the real estate agent brought Changkyun back to reality, if just to shoot back “I’m not Kihyun.”

Changkyun spared one last glance to the attic before climbing down the trapdoor, sealing it up.

“Everything to your satisfaction?” the real estate agent asked as Changkyun dusted himself off.

They made their way down the stairs and Changkyun was lost in thought. “I think so. I’m just…” He trailed off, sparing a glance to the library. “There’s no… squatters living here, is there?”

“Oh, that seems quite impossible. There’s not even running water here.”

“Yeah,” Changkyun said. “That’s what I thought.” 

As he walked past the library, he saw a familiar maroon book now on the table between the two armchairs. A book he had just seen fly past him and into the grip of a tall, eerily pale man.

“Is the rug new?” Changkyun asked mildly.

The real estate agent adjusted his glasses. “I’m not sure. I guess the previous owner must have bought it.”

Changkyun looked up at the ceiling, the dizzyingly high ceiling and thought of how much time it must have taken to build this house. It stood at the top of a hill, and with its sharp peaks and large grounds, it must have been a symbol of status unlike any other. “Who owned this house? Originally?”

“A wealthy family known as the Chae’s if I’m not mistaken. The senior Chae constructed this house himself.”

The name was entirely unfamiliar to Changkyun, and yet –

If names had power, Changkyun would think Chae would be one of them.

“If that will be all, I can lock up,” the real estate agent said, producing a lock from his coat pocket.

Changkyun nodded. “Yeah, go ahead.”

He stepped outside, bracing the cold, and looked back, looked straight past the entrance hall into the library-

And like ice cracking over frozen water, the realization hit him the second as the door closed. Through the gap of the closing door, the last thing he saw was the two ghosts sitting opposite each other, smiling as they bickered over the book between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand that's it! thank you so so much for reading and commenting ily all so much <33 ghost au has quite a bit of unused lore and deleted scenes, so if you have any questions or anything do feel free to drop me a line at:  
> \- [tumblr](http://doyoungmoney.tumblr.com/)  
> \- [twitter](https://twitter.com/minhyukwithagun/)  
> \- [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/minhyukwithagun/)  
> there are two really beautiful pieces of fanart [here](http://chaebigmouth.tumblr.com/post/166853680250/fanart-for-like-ice-cracking-over-frozen-water) and [here](https://iiwatermelonalien.tumblr.com/post/166646958527/minhyukwithagun-c-here-it-isi-hope-you-like/)!!
> 
> as always, comments and kudos are always appreciated and I have some other works in progress that should hopefully be out soon <3

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! <3 comments and kudos are much appreciated. 
> 
> for any questions or anything else you can find me:  
> \- [tumblr](http://doyoungmoney.tumblr.com/)  
> \- [twitter](https://twitter.com/minhyukwithagun/)  
> \- [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/minhyukwithagun/)  
> maybe one day the great hyunghyuk drought of 2017 will end.


End file.
